


Season of the Soul Harvester

by whatUseeintheshadows



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt Dean, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2459117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatUseeintheshadows/pseuds/whatUseeintheshadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When gruesome murders and other unexplained events plague a small town in the weeks leading up to Halloween, Dean and Sam show up to investigate. But with an unknown threat carefully choosing its prey, will the brothers be able to stop it or will they become its next victims. Set in season three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Soft Glow of the Jack O'Lanterns

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! In honor of the Halloween season, I'll be posting a chapter per day (mon-fri) until Halloween! Enjoy!

Chapter One: The Soft Glow of the Jack O’Lanterns 

The bar was crowded, dimly lit and so loud that the patrons had to shout to be heard by those sitting right next to them. Which really wasn’t what George Dayton had been hoping for. He had come here after a terrible day of work and wanted to enjoy a few beers with his friend while they unwound. And this particular bar was normally nice and quiet but he had failed to remember that there was a Halloween party scheduled for that evening. Why the hell they’d scheduled a Halloween party so early in October was beyond him, but it wasn’t like he had any say in such things. 

George had wanted to leave to go to a quieter bar right after they had arrived, but Mike had insisted that they stay. The two of them had been best friends since kindergarten but were wildly different in personality. George had gone to a university, gotten a degree in biochemistry, taken a well-paying job with a local company, married his girlfriend he’d met in college, bought a lovely house, and settled down to have three children. Mike had dropped out of high school, toured the country taking one crappy job after another (some of which weren’t quite legal), come back to town and moved in with a bar waitress, gotten her pregnant and then married her two years after their son was born, and would probably still be unemployed if George hadn’t gotten him a janitor position at the company he worked for. In all the ways that George was a success story, his friend was a loser.

“Man, this party is awesome!” Mike shouted.

“I just wanted a quiet beer.” George called back.

“There’s more to life than a few dozen quiet drinks, buddy. It’s just a shame Sherrie’s not working here tonight. She loves a good party! But we couldn’t get a sitter for Timmy.” 

“You knew about this party and you brought us here anyway?”

“Yeah, you said you wanted a drink.”

“You know I hate parties.”

“Live a little!” Mike laughed.

At that moment George wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around Mike’s throat and strangle the life from him. Then they’d see who couldn’t ‘live a little’. He took another gulp of his beer and tried to control his anger towards his best friend. Besides, he wasn’t drunk enough to believe that he could take Mike down in a fight anyways. George was five foot-six and slightly overweight, while Mike was six foot-two and heavily muscled. The shorter man knew who he could beat and who to leave alone.

“Let’s get out of here.” George stood and started for the door, turning his head to see Mike stand as well and toss a few bills on the bar. 

As they approached George’s blue Mustang convertible, Mike snatched the keys from his hand and ran to the driver’s side door.

“Hey, give those back, asshole!” 

“You had a few too many to be behind the wheel. I’m driving.”

George once more imagined killing the other man as he got into the car. It was a twenty-minute drive to his place and they spent the whole time in silence. Once the car was parked, George got out and reached his hand out for his keys. Mike threw them at him. 

“Have a good night, Georgey-boy.”

“Drop dead, jerk.” George called back as he climbed the stairs to his front porch.

He let himself into his house and closed the door behind him. As George entered the kitchen, he saw leftovers from a casserole sitting in a glass dish on the counter. He knew it was very late and that his family was probably all in bed already. Ignoring the food, George started to walk into the living-room, intent on watching some television before bed, when Crystal came down the stairs to greet him.

“Hey honey, how was your day?”

“I’m getting home after eleven. How the hell do you think my day was?”

“Sorry to hear things didn’t go well. Did you stop by the bar on your way home?” And there was that damned disapproving look she gave him way too often lately. 

“Stop your nagging. If your job was as crappy as mine, you’d need to unwind too. But no, you get the easy job and get to come home early.”

“Teaching math is not easy.” Crystal’s voice was so low that it was barely audible. 

“You talking back to me now? After all I go through at work, I gotta come home and put up with your crap?”

“I didn’t mean…”

“Never mind. Just put away those leftovers and go back to bed.” George ordered as he stomped over to his favorite recliner.

…  
…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…  
…

Mike Norton walked the twelve blocks from George’s house to his own apartment. Truth be told, his friend had become a huge jerk over the years but Mike was hoping that he’d come around. George had always had a terrible temper (Mike had nicknamed him The Hulk back in grade school) but he’d still been a pretty good guy. Until, of course, he’d turned twenty-one years old and became a slave to the bottle. Mike enjoyed a beer now and then, especially if there was a party involved, but was careful to never drink to the point where he was affected more than a slight buzz. But George liked to drink to get drunk and then became the world’s biggest a-hole. And lately he no longer needed beer to claim that title. 

Mike climbed the stairs to his third floor apartment and unlocked the door. He’d no sooner stepped into the living-room and closed the front door when someone grabbed his legs from behind.

“Daddy! You’re home! I missed you!”

“Hey, sport! Daddy missed you too. But what are you doing up? It’s too late for such a little guy to be up and about, isn’t it?”

“No. Mommy said I could stay up.”

“Mommy most certainly didn’t.” Sherrie corrected as she entered the room.

“Busted!” Mike exclaimed.

Timmy giggled. “Oops.” He put on his most innocent expression. “I just wanted to see Daddy.”

“And now you have.” Sherrie told him. “So it’s back to bed for you.”

“Okay. Night, night.” Timmy called as he ran down the hall to his room.

“He means well.” Mike pointed out.

“Sure, take his side.” Sherrie teased. Then she got serious. “You told me George wanted to go to the bar when you called earlier, but I was hoping you wouldn’t be out this late.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I would’ve been home sooner but I had to drive him home and then walk here. But it’s better than the accident he would’ve caused had I not stolen his car keys.”

“Well, the tacos I made for dinner got cold long ago but I can heat one up if you want.”

“Thanks, that sounds great. But I’ll reheat it and you go get some rest, okay?”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Mike smiled at her and then turned around to fix himself a bite to eat. 

…  
…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…  
…

It was midnight when George heard something moving in the kitchen. Instantly sobered, he picked up his son’s metal baseball bat from the floor where the brat must’ve dropped it when he came home from practice. Quietly he stepped into the kitchen and flipped on the lights. Nothing was there. He walked over to check the locks on the door when something caught his eye. There, on the table, was a pumpkin. No, not a pumpkin. A jack o’lantern. 

“Damn morons!” George growled. The kids had begged him to let them carve the pumpkins they’d bought but he’d told them no. It was weeks before Halloween and if they carved them now, the pumpkins would rot long before the holiday. Oh, well. He wasn’t going to waste more money to replace them so the kids would have to go without any when Halloween came. 

Forgetting about what had brought him into the kitchen in the first place, George flicked the lights back off and was about to go on up to bed when he noticed a soft glow. Turning back around, he saw the jack o’lantern was now lit and the flames inside cast an eerie light throughout the room. 

“What the hell?” George heard something move behind him but had no time to turn around.

…  
...supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…  
…

Mike had just finished cleaning up from his very late dinner when he heard something in the living-room. He grabbed a large knife from the drawer and quietly walked into the other room. Reaching out, Mike turned on the floor lamp and raised the knife to attack whoever may have come to try and harm his family. But there was no one in the room. He heard something move again and spun around to see a gray cat run from the room and into the hall.

“Stupid pest.” Mike chuckled at his own jumpiness. 

Then he saw a pumpkin sitting next to the front door. He walked over to pick it up and put it back on the coffee table where it belonged when he realized that it had been carved. That struck him as odd since it was usually a tradition to carve the pumpkin the night before Halloween, but he figured that Timmy must’ve gotten impatient. And knowing Sherrie, she’d already promised the boy that she’d get him another. 

Mike carefully place the decoration on the coffee table and turned to leave the room. He’d no sooner shut off the lamp when he noticed the room wasn’t as dark as it should’ve been. The man spun around to see that the jack o’lantern was casting a soft glow from the flames that had somehow sprung to life inside of its hollowed out interior. 

“What the hell?” Mike heard something move behind him but had no time to turn around.

The next morning, Timmy ran out into the living-room and saw a fully carved jack o’lantern sitting on the coffee table. He was about to go look at it when he noticed his father lying down on the floor.

“Daddy? Daddy, wake up.” The boy shook his dad but it did no good. Scared, the child ran down the hall and into his parent’s room. “Mommy! Daddy’s sleeping on the floor and won’t get up.”

Timmy’s mom got out of bed and rubbed her eyes. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I think Daddy’s sick. He won’t wake up.”

His mom ran past him and into the living-room. Timmy followed and saw his mom trying to wake his dad. She couldn’t do it either. The boy was really scared. His mom dialed the phone and spoke to someone on the other end.

“Yes, my husband collapsed on the floor at some point last night and I can’t wake him… I don’t know when. My son just found him… yes, he’s breathing but it’s very faint… yes… please hurry.”

Timmy watched with tears in his eyes and prayed that his daddy would be okay.

…  
…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…  
…

That morning, Crystal woke to find the other side of her bed empty. That was not good. George wanted breakfast ready before he got up and obviously that wasn’t going to happen. The woman quickly got out of bed and put her robe on over her nightgown. She was only five pounds away from her goal and looked pretty damned good but her husband always made snide comments about her being fat. So she hid her body under her robe and hurried down the stairs. The kids hadn’t gotten up yet, but since it was Saturday they didn’t have to worry about getting to school. She didn’t see George in the living-room and wondered where he could be. Maybe he’d gotten tired of waiting and went to fix himself some coffee. That wouldn’t go well for her, though. He hated to do anything around the house. She’d just stepped into the kitchen when she saw her husband. Then she let out a scream. 

George lay on the kitchen floor, blood pooling around his body. His skin had been peeled off of his skull and there were deep gashes covering the rest of his mangled form. And, on the kitchen floor next to him, was the smashed remains of a pumpkin, its seeds and insides mixing with her husband’s blood and guts.


	2. The Start of a New Job

Chapter Two: The Start of a New Job

Dean Winchester took a huge bite from his bacon double cheese burger as he reached over to turn the music up even louder than it had been. Which, according to his brother Sam, had already been at ear bleeding levels. But the noise drowned out his inner thoughts, which were rather depressing, and made it impossible for Sam to try and start up yet another conversation about Dean’s deal. His little brother just didn’t seem to understand that there was no easy out for him and that he’d like to spend his last year not contemplating what eternal damnation was going to be like. So, with one hand on the wheel and one on his burger, Dean tried to immerse himself in the music.

_Life it seems will fade away_   
_Drifting further everyday_   
_Getting lost within myself_   
_Nothing matters no one else_   
_I have lost the will to live_   
_Simply nothing more to give_   
_There is nothing more for me_   
_Need the end to set me free_

Okay. Maybe this particular song wasn’t helping. But if he turned it off now, Sam would want to talk about why Dean had shut off a Metallica song midway through. Not a conversation he wanted to have.

_Things not what they used to be_  
 _Missing one inside of me_  
 _Deathly loss this can't be real_  
 _Can't stand this hell I feel_  
 _Emptiness is filling me_  
 _To the point of agony_  
 _Growing darkness taking dawn_  
 _I was me, but now he's gone_

And now the song was officially depressing the crap out of him. Oh, well. It was almost over.

_No one but me can save myself, but it's too late_   
_Now I can't think, think why I should even try_   
_Yesterday seems as though it never existed_   
_Death greets me warm, now I will just say goodbye_

As soon as the song was over, Dean flipped the cassette player off. He was no longer in the mood to listen to some tunes. Of course Sam took that as a sign that Dean wanted to discuss his feelings.

“You okay Dean?”

“Yeah, fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, first you turn the radio up and now you turn it off…”

“You’re right, Sam. My radio habits are a desperate cry for help. Thank goodness you got to me in time. Let me pull the car over right now so we can hug.”

“Fine. I can take a hint. I’m backing off.” Sam threw his hands up in a slightly over-exaggerated gesture.

“Good.” Dean took another bite of his lunch, but now it just didn’t taste as good and there was a heaviness in his stomach that had nothing to do with the greasy food. Sometimes having an entire year to wait and think about what was coming seemed like Hell itself but other times it felt as though the three hundred and sixty-five days would be gone if he blinked. 

“Hey, I think I got something.” Sam’s voice interrupted his dark thoughts.

“If it’s an STD then I don’t want to know about it.”

“Ha ha.” Sam rolled his eyes, and then turned to look back at his laptop screen. “No, there’s been three deaths in a small town not too far from here.”

“People die all the time, Sam.”

“Yeah well, not by having the skin peeled from their faces and their intestines ripped out they don’t.”

“Ouch.”

“The victims’ families all say that everything seemed normal the night before and that they didn’t hear anything. The first guy got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, the second victim was a college student who was out with her friends until almost midnight, and the third guy came home from work late and stayed up to watch the television.”

“So they were all up late. Anything else match up with them? You know, besides their gruesome deaths.”

Sam studied the information before him. “Uh, let’s see. Eliot Wilcox was a forty-three year old bank manager with a wife, no kids. Very well off and extremely well liked by his employees. Patricia Donato, a twenty year old student at the community college. Lived with her parents and was in serious debt with student loans. According to this article, her and her friends were in trouble last year for hazing new students. And finally, there’s George Dayton, a biochemist at a local lab. Middle class, married with three children. No one seems to really like or dislike the guy.”

“So, no connection.”

“Not that I’m seeing.”

“Okay then. First step will be to speak with the families. Make sure we’re not missing anything.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “So, who are we going to be this time?”

…  
…supernatural…supernatural...supernatural...supernatural…supernatural…  
…

“I don’t understand. I’ve already spoken with the police. Can’t you just get my statement from them?” Crystal Dayton asked, standing in the doorway to her well-kept two story home.

“We’re not with the police.” Dean explained. “We’re profilers with the FBI. And we need to speak to you in person just in case there’s anything left out of the police reports.”

“We also may need to ask you different questions to get a more complete picture of what happened.” Sam added.

“I can tell you what happened. Someone broke in during the night and killed my husband. End of story.”

“Don’t you want to know who did it?” Sam inquired.

“Is knowing going to change anything?”

“Well, no. But…”

“Then what’s the point.” The attractive brunette was about to slam the door in their faces when Dean stepped forward and stuck his foot in the doorway.

“Ma’am, even if it’s too late to help your husband, we believe that this is the work of a serial killer and that more people are going die if he’s not stopped.”

The woman seemed to consider that for a moment and then, with a sigh, she opened the door to let them in.

“Have a seat.” She offered when they entered the living room. 

Both brothers sat down on an overstuffed couch that looked far more comfortable than it really was.

“Did your husband act any different when he came home that night?” Dean asked.

“No. It was pretty much business as usual.” 

“Was it usual for him to come home so late?” Sam inquired.

“Yeah. He got off from work at six, just like always. Then stopped at the bar for a drink, just like always.”

“He always goes to the bar on Friday nights?”

“Friday nights, Saturday nights, Sunday nights, Monday nights, you get the idea?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sam replied politely.

“Mrs. Dayton, is it possible that someone from his workplace or the bar had a grudge against him?” Dean spoke up.

“It’s very possible, but I wouldn’t know who that person was. I’ve never met any of his coworkers. Nor do I go to the bar.”

“Does he always go to the same bar?”

“Not always. But I think he usually goes to Travis’s Tavern. He and his friend Mike go there often.”

“Does Mike have a last name?”

“Yeah, Mike Norton. They’ve been friends forever. But you know, lately George said that Mike’s been on his case. He felt that Mike was jealous of his better job and house.”

Sam leaned forwards. “You think Mr. Norton may have had something against your husband?”

“No. No way. Mike is as sweet as they come. Besides, when I called his home to inform him about George, his wife told me that he’d collapsed and was in some kind of coma.”

“When did that happen?” Dean questioned.

“The same night that my husband was murdered.”

Switching tracks, Dean looked around the living room. “So, did you notice anything missing or out of place after you found you husband?”

“Nothing was stolen, no. But… well, this is going to sound strange, but there was a smashed pumpkin next to George’s body. And it wasn’t one of the three that we bought for our kids. Those were still on the porch outside. The police say that there were no prints on it, but why would a killer bring a pumpkin to a house where they intended to kill someone just to smash it on the floor.”

“I don’t know ma’am, but that information will certainly help with our psychological profile. Thank you for your time.” Dean stood and flashed the woman his most charming smile. “Can I please use your bathroom before we leave?”

“Sure. It’s up the stairs and the second door on your left.”

“Thank you.” Dean smiled again, then proceeded up the stairs.

Once out of her line of sight, Dean pulled out his emf detector and turned it on. Nothing. Just then, one of the bedroom doors on the right side of the hall opened. Dean shoved the emf detector back into his pocket. A small boy around five or six years old stepped out.

“Are you another cop?”

“Actually I’m with the FBI.” Dean lied as he knelt down to be at eye level with the child.

“Like on the TV shows?” The boy seemed impressed.

“Just like that. What’s your name?”

“Toby.” The boy looked thoughtful for a moment, then he seemed to get nervous. “Are you gonna arrest me?”

“No. Why would I arrest you?”

“’Cause I’m not sad that Daddy’s dead and that makes me a bad person.”

“I’m sure you’re not a bad person.” Dean assured him. “Maybe you just don’t feel sad because it’s too soon after a bad thing happened and you just need some time.”

“No. I’m not sad ‘cause he used to hit me a lot and say bad words and I’m glad he can’t anymore.” Toby stated it so matter-of-factly that it broke Dean’s heart just a little.

“Well then, your daddy was the bad person, not you.”

“You sure?”

“I’m an FBI agent, so I’m always sure.”

“Oh, good. ‘Cause I didn’t wanna go to jail.”

The boy smiled at Dean and then walked past him and into the bathroom. Dean hurried back down the stairs and motioned for Sam that it was time to leave.

Once they were back in the Impala, Dean turned to address Sam, but his brother spoke first.

“She didn’t seem that broken up about her husband’s death.”

“Well, I doubt she is. I ran into one of the kids upstairs and found out that George was one hell of a bastard. Abused his son, probably the other kids too.”

“So maybe he conjured something that did this?”

“I somehow doubt the six year old is into the dark arts. Besides, the other victims have no connection to this family.”

“And then there’s the mysteriously comatose friend.”

“And the smashed pumpkin.” Dean added.

“So what the hell are we looking at?”

“Well, at least two of the three victims were jerks. Maybe the third guy has some secret that makes him an asshole too.”

Sam nodded. “So we look into him. Maybe whatever’s doing this has a victim type.”

“And let’s stop by the hospital and check on coma guy.”

Dean started the car and pulled away from the curb. He was glad to have a new job to take his mind off of other things. He just wished that this case made a little more sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in this chapter was 'Fade to Black' by Metallica.


	3. Story of the Halloween Pumpkin

Chapter Three: Story of the Halloween Pumpkin

Dean parked the Impala in the hospital parking lot and got out of the car, making sure that he had his fake ID in his jacket. Shoving his car keys into his jeans pocket, the hunter started walking towards the large white building. Sam caught up with him a moment later.

“I don’t understand how people can believe that you’re FBI when you’re dressed like that.” The younger brother commented, gesturing at Dean’s denim pants, black t-shirt, and leather jacket.

“Dude, don’t you watch TV? The criminal profilers never dress in suit and ties.”

“Dean, that’s television. You can’t base your cover off of fictional characters.”

“Why not? It’s not like anyone we talk to has ever met real profilers. You’re just pissed because you got all dressed up and I’m still comfortable.” Dean grinned at his brother, but then put on a more serious expression as they entered the hospital. The clothes they wore were not as important as how the conducted themselves. 

Dean walked up to the courtesy desk and flashed a brilliant smile at the older woman who was sitting there.

“Excuse me ma’am, but I was hoping that you could let me know what room Michael Norton is in?”

“Certainly, young man. One moment, please.” The woman typed something on her keyboard, and then trailed her index finger across the screen, obviously reading the information. “Room one forty-six.”

“Thank you.” Dean nodded and turned to walk to the elevators.

“You’re welcome.” The woman responded. “Have a lovely day.”

The brothers got into the elevator and Dean swatted the taller man’s hand away so that he could push the button before Sam could. Sam shot him a ‘could you be more childish?’ look, which Dean responded to with a rather smug smirk.

Once the doors opened, the Winchesters stepped out and, after looking at the signs with arrows that directed people to the correct rooms, they walked down the hall to room one forty-six. Inside, they found a pretty blonde woman sitting by the hospital bed while a young boy played with matchbox cars on the floor. Lying on the bed, hooked up to IVs and monitor equipment, was a man in his mid-thirties. The dark haired man looked for all the world as if he were just taking a nap. The woman looked up when they entered.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. Are you Mrs. Sherrie Norton?”

“Yes.”

“I’m with the FBI’s criminal profiling division and I’d like to ask you a few questions.” Dean explained as he showed her his badge.

“If you’re here to ask if my comatose husband had anything to do with the murder of his alcoholic ass of a friend, you can show yourselves right back out.”

“No ma’am, we don’t think he’s involved at all.” Dean quickly assured her.

“My daddy didn’t kill anyone.” The little boy spoke up. “It was probably the Halloween pumpkin.”

“Timmy, that’s enough.” Sherrie’s words were firm but her tone was soft. The boy bit his lip and looked down at his lap. His mom let out a sigh. “Sorry. He’s a bit upset.”

“Completely understandable.” Dean replied. “Do the doctors know what’s wrong with your husband?” 

“They are pretending they do, but they have no clue. They just keep spewing out medical terms and saying to ‘wait and see’. But what are you guys really here about?” Sherrie asked.

“We wanted to ask a few questions about your husband’s friend.” Sam answered. 

“He was a drunken bastard. Mike tried to see the best in him, but that guy was a complete jerk. And I’ll tell you one other thing. I’m almost positive that he beat his wife and kids.” She was about to continue when she looked over at Timmy. “I can’t talk about this in front of him.” 

“May I?” Dean nodded with his head towards the door.

Sherrie seemed unsure for a moment but then, apparently deciding that she could trust a federal agent, nodded. 

“C’mon buddy, let’s go get something from the vending machines. I’m starving.”

“You just wanna get me outta the room so your friend can talk to my mommy about the dead guy. I already heard about the blood and stuff so there’s no reason that I should go.”

“Well, my friend is just going to ask about a lot of boring stuff and I’m a lot more fun than he is, so let’s go.”

“Can I have a candy bar?”

Dean glanced at Sherrie who once again nodded. “Sure you can.”

“Okay.” Timmy got up and shoved one of his toy cars into his pocket. Then he took Dean’s hand and they walked out of the room.

A ride down to the ground floor in the elevator (and Dean let Timmy push the buttons) led the duo to a cafeteria where they both selected a candy and a soda from the machines. Once they were sitting down, Dean popped a peanut M&M into his mouth and started up a conversation.

“You know, there’s a reason I wanted to get you out of that room besides the whole avoiding grown up talk stuff.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I wanted to ask you some questions.”

The boy looked confused. “But I didn’t know Daddy’s friend too well.” 

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about the Halloween pumpkin.”

“I didn’t make it up.” The child protested.

“I never said you did. I just want to know why you think it killed your daddy’s friend.”

“I don’t know if it did that, but I do know that it hurt Daddy.”

“Did you see it hurt him?”

“No.” Timmy confessed. “But when I found Daddy on the floor, it was on our coffee table. It wasn’t the one that Mommy bought for me. I snuck that one into my room at night ‘cause it was cool. But this one was already carved with a face. It was smiling but the smile wasn’t happy looking. It was a little creepy. Like the smile the boy at school gave me before he punched me and stole my baseball hat.”

Talking to the boy reminded Dean somewhat painfully of his interaction with Ben just weeks before. Timmy was younger but there were a few similarities. Dean mentally shook himself. Now was not the time to think about ‘could’ve beens’. 

“Is that why you think the pumpkin did it?”

“Well, yeah. That’s it.” Timmy averted his gaze to stare down at his Milky Way candy bar. 

“Hey, you can tell me.”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“Not even Mommy believes me.”

“Do I look like mommy to you?”

The child laughed. “No.”

“Then?”

“Okay. The first night that Daddy was in here, Mommy and I went home late and went to sleep. I got up to pee and saw a light coming from the living room. It was flickering, kinda like a candle. So I went in and the light went off, but then I remembered the pumpkin and I turned on the lamp. It was sitting on the table still. I didn’t like it ‘cause it was so creepy and I got scared. And I’m not a sissy or nothing, I can watch scary movies without getting scared. So I took it over to the window, and threw it outside. It fell all the way down. I went back to sleep, but the next morning it was on the coffee table again.”

“Did it still look the same?” Dean inquired.

“Yeah.”

“Did you try to get rid of it again?”

“I kicked it across the room yesterday and it didn’t break. And every time I look away from it and then look back, it turns around to face me. Mommy says I’m making it all up, but I’m not.”

“I believe you.” Dean assured him. 

“You do?”

“Absolutely.”

“Can you help me? That’s what the FBI does, right? They help people.”

“Tell you what. While you are here with you parents, my partner and I will go to your house and take that Halloween pumpkin away.”

“Really?” Timmy exclaimed.

“Yep.” 

“Thank you!” The small boy jumped up from his chair and threw his arms around Dean’s middle. Dean hugged the child back.

When they got back to Mike’s hospital room, Sam was just finishing up.

“Thank you so much for your time.” He said as he shook the woman’s hand.

A young nurse who had been attending to the patient walked past Dean and gave him a rather flirtatious smile that the hunter readily returned.

Timmy ran to his father’s bed and climbed up next to the comatose man. 

Dean and Sam walked out. As they made their way down the hall, the nurse from Mike’s room walked up to them. She was tall, thin, and leggy, with long red hair that was pulled up tightly in a ponytail. She addressed them both, but her eyes lingered on Dean.

“Um, I overheard that you’re with the FBI. Are you here about the coma patients?”

“Patients? As in plural?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah. Both Mr. Norton and Mr. Boothby were brought in within the last week and a half suffering from unexplainable coma-like states. I asked the doctors to call in some experts but they’ve refused. I’m afraid it may be some contagion or something.” She looked around quickly. “Look, I don’t want to get in trouble. Can we talk in a few hours when I get off my shift?”

“Sure, I’d love that.” Dean handed her a fake business card with his cell number printed on it. “Just give me a call.”

“Okay.” She agreed.

Dean watched as she hurried off. Then he and Sam got in the elevator to discuss what they’d learned.

…  
…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural...supernatural…  
…

Jill Griffin went back to her rounds. She was looking forward to seeing the federal agents later on. And not just to express her concerns about her patients’ mysterious ailment. They were both really good looking, especially the shorter one. And he seemed to appreciate her looks as well. 

Just then, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She took it out and looked at the screen. It was her mom. Her mom had been a little sick the past few weeks and Jill assumed the worst. She knew that she wasn’t supposed to take personal calls while on shift, but this really couldn’t wait. She replaced the device, and then made sure that her supervisor wasn’t watching before she left her assigned section. 

Jill ran down the fire stairs and out the backdoor that led to the dumpsters. It locked automatically, so she pulled her nurse’s smock that she wore over her dark red tank top off and stuffed it in the door so that it would remain open. She took her phone out once more and was about to call her mother back when she saw a soft glow coming from in between a dumpster and the hospital wall. Curious, she walked over and looked down. There, on top of a full trash bag, was a lit jack o’lantern. 

Fearful that the trash around it might catch fire, Jill squatted down and took off the top of the carved pumpkin. She blew on the flame and it went out. No sooner had she replaced the stem portion of the pumpkin, then the fire sprang back to life.

Jill stood up and took a few steps back. She turned to run back inside, phone call completely forgotten, and bumped into someone. When she looked up at him, she opened her mouth to let out a terrified scream, but his hand grabbed her forehead and she found that she had no voice to cry out with. Pain seared in her temples and she felt tears run from her eyes, and then all went black.


	4. There’s Something About the Pumpkins

Chapter Four: There’s Something About the Pumpkins

“I don’t know, Dean.” Sam responded after Dean told him Timmy’s story. Dean cast a glance at his little brother just in time to see his disbelieving headshake. “It sounds more like the plot to a horror movie than an actual clue.”

“Dude, our whole lives sound like the plot to a horror movie. Besides, didn’t Crystal Dayton mention a pumpkin near her husband’s body?”

“Yeah, but that was just a regular smashed pumpkin. Not a self-igniting, indestructible, evil jack o’lantern.”

Dean let out an exasperated sigh. “It can’t hurt to check out. Besides, I promised the kid I’d take care of it before he got home.”

“Fine. You’re right. Drop me off at the bank that the first victim, Wilcox, worked at. I’ll ask around about him and then walk the two blocks to the motel and check us in. You go pick up the jack o’lantern and meet me there.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dean agreed. After a moment, he spoke again. “So, what do you think about the coma patients? They gotta be connected, right?”

“Way too big a coincidence not to be.”

“I guess we’ll learn more when Jill calls.”

“You know her name?” Sam asked.

“She wore a name tag.” Dean explained.

“I just didn’t think that’s where your eyes were at.” Sam replied.

“Well, her name tag _was_ pinned to a great spot.” Dean shrugged. He pulled the Impala over to let Sam get out in front of the bank. “See you in a bit, Sammy.” He called as he drove off to the Norton’s home.

…  
…supernatural...supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…  
…

Sam watched his older brother drive off before turning to walk into the bank. He wasn’t so sure about the story that the boy had told Dean, but he knew better than to argue with his brother when the elder Winchester had his mind set on something. And they couldn’t afford to pass on any leads at this point in their case. Which is why Sam was going into the bank to see if the deceased bank manager had a dark side that hadn’t made it into the official reports. If so, then all the victims had similar personalities and that was a good place to start with his research. 

Sam walked up to the counter and flashed his badge.

“Hello, I’d like to speak with whoever’s in charge here.”

“Oh wow, FBI?” The young clerk seemed very impressed. “I guess you’re here about Mr. Wilcox’s death.” Sam just nodded in response. “Okay well, Mr. Green is in his office right over there.” The guy pointed to a glass office to the right. “You can go on in.”

“Thank you.” Sam walked across the worn gray carpet and over to the see-through door. He knocked on the glass. A middle aged man looked up and waved him in.

“Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?”

“I’m with the FBI’s profiling department. I just wanted to have a few words with you about your late boss, Mr. Eliot Wilcox.”

“Yes, sure. Please, have a seat.”

Sam settled into an office chair that was directly across the desk from the other man. 

“Now what can I do for you?” The replacement manager asked.

“Do you know of anybody that may have held a grudge against Mr. Wilcox?”

“Everyone here loved him. He was very fair and gave frequent raises to the employees. He worked hard and demanded the same of everyone else but made the work place feel relaxed. Fun even. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of any complaints about him.”

“Really?” Sam put on his most skeptical look. “So this guy was perfect?”

“Well…”

“Please, sir. Anything you know may help catch the person responsible.”

“Look, I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but Eliot stayed to finish up work in his office late many nights.”

“So, he was a hard worker. Nothing wrong there.”

“He would often ask one of the young female employees to stay late with him. And… they would often get raises shortly afterwards. He said it was for their exemplary work but I had my suspicions.”

“You didn’t mention this to the police.” Sam made it a statement, not a question.

“Hell no. I couldn’t let Sue find out that her newly departed husband was cheating on her with teenagers. She comes to all of the company parties and gatherings and she really is very nice. I don’t want her to find out what a scumbag Eliot used to be to her behind her back. It would kill her.”

“Are you certain she doesn’t know already?”

“Positive. We see her here all the time and she was way too happy to be carrying around that information. You’re not going to tell her, are you?”

“No, this stays between us.”

“Thank you.”

“Did anything strange happen the day he was killed?” Sam inquired.

“No. We had a little fall festival party in the afternoon. Sue stopped by with fresh homemade pumpkin pie. And then we all actually went home on time. The next day I got here and Eliot hadn’t yet arrived, so I opened the bank myself. A few hours later the cops were here asking questions. At first they suspected me since I got a promotion out of the whole thing but as I’m sure you’ve seen in the reports, I have an alibi. Besides, I understand there’ve been more victims since.”

“Where did you hear that?” 

“People talk.” Was his short reply. 

“Did you know any of the other victims?” Sam inquired.

“Not personally. But this is one of only two banks in town so most people come through here at some point.”

It wasn’t really a connection then. So, there was nothing helpful except the knowledge that all three victims had been a jerk in one way or another. But then something Mr. Green had said moments ago suddenly popped into his mind. Eliot’s wife had made pumpkin pie. And Dean seemed convinced that there was something going on with the pumpkins. Oh great. If Dean was correct, Sam had a big ‘I told you so’ coming his way.

“Mr. Green, you said that Mr. Wilcox’s wife was here the day he was killed. That she brought something to the party?” 

“Yeah. Sue always goes to the local farm the first week of October to stock up on pumpkins. Her pumpkin pie is the best around. But I assure you that her attendance here that day had nothing to do with her husband’s death.”

“I’m sure it didn’t. Thank you for your time.” Sam stood to leave.

Mr. Green reached over the desk and shook his hand. “I hope you find the killer. If you need anything else, please stop on back.”

Sam nodded and left the bank. On his walk to the motel, he thought about all he’d learned. They still didn’t have much to go on. But he knew that Dean would want to try and figure out if the other victim had any pumpkins with her on the night of her death. But this was October, so most people would have at least one. Maybe a connection, maybe not. When Dean got back with the supposedly evil jack o’lantern they’d find out more.

…  
…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural...  
…

Dean pulled the Impala up to the curb next to the somewhat rundown apartment. He got out of the car and looked around to make sure that there wasn’t anyone around that might be a threat to his baby. No one was lurking nearby, so it seemed that the Impala would be safe. 

Dean walked up a set of wooden stairs that, while old, were pretty well maintained. When he reached the porch, the hunter produced a lock pick and within moments had the front door open. He entered the apartment and didn’t have to look hard to see the jack o’lantern sitting on the coffee table. It was facing the door he’d just come through. It’s eyes were mere slits in its wide face, two small holes made a nose, and a huge, sinister smile filled with sharp teeth took up almost the whole bottom half of the pumpkin. Timmy had been right. It was damned creepy looking.

Since he was in the apartment anyway, Dean decided to take a quick look around. He walked into the kitchen. Nothing strange there. A stroll down the hall revealed a bathroom and two bedrooms. One was obviously the parents’ room. Most of the furniture was mismatched, probably secondhand, but well arranged. A peek into the other room revealed that the Nortons had given the larger of the two bedrooms to their son. It was decorated with car posters, glow-in-the-dark stars, and sports memorabilia. And on the small desk in the corner was a small uncarved pumpkin. Dean walked over and picked it up. Nothing out of the ordinary. Replacing the item, the hunter walked out of the room. As he went back down the hall towards the living room, Dean saw what seemed to be a flickering light emanating from his destination. He hurried into the room, drawing his gun as he entered, but the flickering had ceased. It was impossible for him to not notice that the jack o’lantern was now turned to stare directly at the doorway he’d just come through.

“What the hell?” The hunter walked towards the coffee table slowly, keeping an eye out for anything else that might be in the room. There was a chance that the jack o’lantern hadn’t moved by itself. 

When he reached the creepy gourd, Dean pocketed his weapon to pick it up. He turned it around in his hands but there was nothing unusual about it. The young man took the lid off of it and looked inside. There wasn’t even a candle in there to be lit. Replacing the top, Dean raised it to his face to stare at it. Fugly as all hell, but still just a carved pumpkin. Then, using all his strength, the hunter hurled the jack o’lantern across the room. It smacked into the wall and fell to the ground undamaged. It rolled to a stop with its gruesome face staring at Dean. He stepped over to it and brought his foot down on it with as much force as possible. It didn’t break like he’d anticipated but rolled out from under his foot, throwing him off balance. Dean fell back onto the floor. 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean exclaimed, annoyed and embarrassed but not hurt. He was glad that Sam hadn’t been there to see that. It certainly wouldn’t be told when he related what had happened here. 

Dean got back to his feet and picked up the jack o’lantern. He’d experiment with it more when he got to the motel. 

He had just tucked it under his arm and was headed to the front door when he felt heat come from the pumpkin. Lifting it once more to eye level, Dean saw a flame burning inside of the evil looking decoration. He dropped the object and stepped back. Then he heard what sounded like someone right behind him. Dean went for his gun as he spun around to face whatever was in the room with him.


	5. Burned

Chapter Five: Burned 

Dean raised his weapon at the dark figure in front of him. The being’s entire body was covered in a cloak that seemed almost impossibly black, and a large hood obscured its face. A strange rotted smell drifted from the man-shaped darkness. The hunter squinted to try and get a better look at the thing, but then it reached its right arm out and a hand emerged from the black sleeve. It was long and thin with leathery looking burnt-orange skin and sharp pointed fingernails. The tips of the fingers touched Dean’s head and he felt cold where they rested. But then they started to heat up. Dean didn’t hesitate a moment more as his finger tightened around the trigger. A shot rang out and the burning sensation on his forehead ceased as the creatures fingers left his skin. The thing jerked backwards and then burst into flames. The hunter used his arms to shield his eyes as the fire burned bright and hot. Then the fire seemed to explode, expanding briefly before collapsing in on itself and disappearing.

Dean stumbled back, feeling as though his skin were on fire. Lowering his arms from their protective position, the hunter looked around the room. It was all quiet. Everything looked just as it had before the intruder had attacked him. Dean glanced down at his wrists and hands and saw that the skin not covered by his jacket had gotten burned. His right one wasn’t bad, just slightly red, but he must’ve had the left one over it because the back of that one was a deep red as though he’d gotten the world’s worst sunburn and was starting to blister. But other than that and a sore spot on his forehead from the creature’s touch, he seemed to be fine. 

The hunter walked over and picked the jack o’lantern up from the floor. It was no longer lit. Tucking it once more under his left arm, Dean surveyed the room. Finding it still clear, he left the apartment and hurried down the stairs. Dean wanted to toss the jack o’lantern into the trunk but was mindful of what Timmy had said about it magically appearing back onto the coffee table and decided to put in next to himself where he could keep an eye on it. Stripping off his leather jacket, the hunter opened the passenger side door and dropped the pumpkin onto the seat. Then he covered it with the jacket so that he wouldn’t have to see the creepy-ass thing stare at him the whole trip to the motel. 

As he drove, Dean kept sending sideways glances at the lump under his jacket, but it didn’t move or disappear. Nor did his leather jacket spontaneously combust. Which was a good thing since he’d really be pissed then.

Dean pulled into the motel parking lot and then called his brother.

“Yeah?”

“Dude, what room did we get?”

“Thirty-eight.”

“Okay.” Dean hung up and then drove over to park in the spot right in front of their room. He took the wrapped jack o’lantern out of the car with him and approached the door. Sam answered a few seconds after Dean knocked.

“Good, you’re here. I was just… what the hell happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked as he pushed back past the taller man to enter the room. 

“You have like, burn marks on your forehead and your wrists and hands look like you fell asleep while sunbathing… in a microwave.”

“Yeah well, I had a run in with a… how did you put it? A self-igniting, indestructible, evil jack o’lantern that sounds like the plot of a horror movie.”

Sam looked confused. “A jack o’lantern did that to you?”

“No, but it _did_ self-ignite and it _is_ indestructible. The burning came from Jacky’s buddy, Mr. Tall Dark and Hooded.”

“You saw what’s been doing this?”

“Sort of. The son of a bitch was hidden under his dark side sith cloak so I couldn’t see much.” Dean placed the still wrapped pumpkin on the small table and then sat down on the bed closest to the door. “He was slightly taller than me, and he smelled like rot. All I saw was a hand. It was long and thin and the skin looked like dull orange leather. And that’s really all I could tell you. Oh, and his touch did this.” He pointed at his forehead. 

“Well, tell me everything while I get you patched up.” Sam started to go for the front door, obviously planning on getting the first aid kit from their car.

“Dude, I’m fine.” Dean called after him.

“If I don’t get something on those burns, they’re going to start to peel. And the ones on your forehead might scar. You want that?”

“Fine.” Dean conceded. He watched as his brother left their room and then glanced over at the lump under his jacket. It was still under there, but Dean felt as though it was somehow staring at him through the leather. But that was ridiculous. Right?

Sam reentered the room carrying all of their bags. He dropped them by the bed and then dug through one of them to retrieve their well-stocked first aid kit. Sam pulled out a small jar of silver sulfadiazine cream and used a gauze pad to apply it to his brother’s wrists and hands. Then he covered the back of Dean’s left hand with a sterile pad and gently wrapped it with gauze to protect the blistered skin. As the younger brother turned his attention to Dean’s forehead, he got a puzzled expression on his face.

“You said that this happened when he touched you?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t recommend shaking hands with this guy. Why?”

“It’s just… when we were at the hospital, I got a closer look at Mike Norton. He had some faint marks on his head. And now that I think of it, they look exactly like those burns.” He gestured at Dean’s forehead. “They were just older and almost completely healed.” 

“So coma boy met up with this guy too. Makes sense.”

“But why are you not in a coma too then?”

“Because I shot his freaky ass. That’s when he burst into flames and gave me these.” Dean raised his hands.

“So do you think he was trying to put you in a coma too? Why not just kill you? Because he had to have been responsible for the three deaths here. There’s no way that there’s more than one creature in town.”

“I agree.” Dean nodded. “And trust me, his nails looked like he could rip someone apart if he wanted to.”

“So he kills some and not others.” Sam was quiet for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. “All three victims that were torn apart were major jerks. One was abusive, one a bully, and I just learned that the first victim was cheating on his wife. But I can’t find any really bad dirt on Mike Norton or the other coma patient, Derek Boothby.” Sam pointed at his open laptop. He’d obviously been looking into the personal lives of those involved.

“So he goes around ganking assholes. Why?”

“Yeah, and why didn’t he kill you?” Sam added with a smirk.

“Ha ha. You’re a riot. But seriously, why kill douches and put nice guys to sleep. What’s the point?”

“Hopefully that nurse can give us some more info on the kind of comas that the two men are in. Maybe there’s some clue there.” 

“Well, there’s something else to check into.” Dean pointed at the jacket covered pumpkin he’d brought with him.

Sam walked over to the table and pulled the leather jacket off of the object. Just as Dean had been expecting, the jack o’lantern was facing him. 

“Man, that’s creepy looking.” Sam exclaimed. “Why would anyone carve a face like that into it?” Dean watched his little brother pick up the gourd and turn it around in his hands. “You say it self-ignited? And it was indestructible?”

“Yeah. It lit itself twice while I was there. And it withstood being thrown and stomped on. I was thinking that we could try some other experiments while we have it here.” Dean responded as he rummaged through a bag. 

“What kind of experiments?”

Dean pulled a huge hunting knife from the bag. “Kind of like this.” He replied as he stood and walked over to the table. He raised his arm high into the air and brought the sharp weapon down with all his strength. The blade cut right through the jack o’lantern’s thick skin and flesh. 

“Doesn’t look very indestructible to me.” Sam commented.

“Dude, I was sure the blade wouldn’t penetrate.” Dean admitted. He went to pull the knife from the pumpkin but it seemed to be stuck. He tightly grasped it with both hands but hissed from the pain in his burned left one.

Sam pushed him out of the way. “I’ll get it out, Dean. You’re going to burst those blisters if you’re not careful.” 

Dean shrugged and resisted the urge to get into a juvenile shoving match with his brother. Truth be told, he was glad that Sam had taken over. The older Winchester was going to need something to take the edge off the pain before he could comfortably use his left hand. 

Sam had just started to extract the knife when Dean saw the blade begin to glow red hot. The heat seemed to be traveling up towards the handle.

“Sam, let it go!” He warned.

“I almost got it.” Came the response, followed by a cry of pain. Sam let go of the weapon and jumped away from the table, holding his right hand.

“Tried to warn you.”

“What the hell?” Sam looked down at his hand. Dean looked as well and saw that it was just slightly red. He’d released his grip on the knife in time to avoid any serious damage. Just then they heard a clatter.

Both brothers looked over at the jack o’lantern to see that the knife was no longer protruding from the orange gourd but was lying on the table next to it. Dean stepped over and examined the pumpkin. There was not a scratch on it.

“Believe me now?” He asked Sam.

“Yeah, I know. You told me so.”

Dean grinned. “I have you well-trained.”

“Whatever. So, what now?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I think the Mr. Wizard portion of this investigation should end for our own safety.” 

“I agree.” 

Dean checked the time. “Jill should be calling soon. I’ll meet with her and learn a bit about the whole coma thing, while you check on you laptop to see if any of this makes any kind of sense.”

“So I do all the hard work while you flirt with a hot girl.”

“Dude, I’m the one who got fried today. I think I deserve the better assignment. Besides, she was checking me out, not you.”

“Fine. But what are we going to do with that thing?” Sam nodded to the jack o’lantern. “I don’t think either of us should be alone with it.”

“Aw… is little Sammy afraid of the big, bad pumpkin?” Dean teased. He didn’t mention that he had no intention of leaving his brother alone with the jack o’lantern and that the piece of orange crap made him nervous too.

“I’m serious, Dean. Maybe it summons that thing you saw earlier.”

“Yeah, I thought about that. Which is why I’m taking it with me. I seriously doubt that creepy cloak guy will magically appear in a moving vehicle.”

“I guess.” Sam seemed reluctant for Dean to take any action that would put him in harms way. Dean understood where he was coming from but he’d much rather risk his own life than put Sam in any type of danger. 

Just then, Dean’s cell phone rang. “It’s probably Jill.” He announced and then answered. “Hello.”

“Hi. Uh, is this special agent Dean Hetfield?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“Uh, this is nursing assistant Carol Myers. I’m friends with Jill Griffin. I saw her talking with you earlier today and I just found your card in her pocket so I felt I should call.”

“Wait, slow down. You found the card in her pocket? Is she okay?”

“No. They just found her out back, by the dumpsters. She’s in a coma, just like the two patients she was taking care of. They say she must’ve fallen or something but it’s a big coincidence, don’t you think? Besides, I think she was attacked.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She’s got these, like, cigarette burns or something on her forehead.”

“Okay, this may sound like an odd question, but were there any pumpkins near the dumpsters?”

“What? Why… what does that have to do with anything?”

“Please just answer the question.”

“I don’t know about that because I wasn’t there when they found her. Do you want me to go and check?” 

“No.” Dean answered rather forcefully. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay. I’ll be here for another two hours if you have any questions.”

“Thanks.” Dean hung up the phone.

“What happened?” Sam inquired.

“It got to Jill. She’s in a coma.”

“Crap.”

“Yeah. I’m still going to the hospital to find out more about the coma patients. Do your whole research thing. We’ll compare notes when I get back.”

“Sure. Be careful, Dean. This thing already targeted you once.”

“I won’t give it another chance.” Dean stated with more confidence than he felt. 

The older hunter dumped the contents of one of his duffle bags out onto the bed, and placed the jack o’lantern inside. Then Dean slipped into his leather jacket and walked out of the motel room, carrying the possibly dangerous package in his right hand. He wanted to stop this freak before any other innocent people were attacked. No one else was going to get hurt on his watch.


	6. Collecting Pumpkins and Putting Together Clues

Chapter Six: Collecting Pumpkins and Putting Together Clues

Dean pulled up outside of the motel long after dark had fallen. He climbed out of the Impala and snatched the bag from the passenger seat. The hunter trudged to the door of the Winchester’s room and knocked loudly enough to get Sam’s attention but not so loud as to disturb the neighbors and get themselves thrown out. The door swung open and Dean walked past his younger brother, leaving the taller man to close and lock the door. He dropped the bag onto the table and the flopped back onto the bed.

“Everything go well?” Sam asked.

“I talked with that nurse chick. Not as hot as Jill but not bad looking either.”

“Dean.”

“What? Anyways, all three coma vics are fine. You know, except for the whole not waking up thing. But medically, there’s no reason for them to be comatose. No head trauma, no illness, nothing to explain why they’re in that condition.”

“Well, this isn’t the first time this has happened.” Sam informed him. 

“Really?”

“Twenty-five years ago and three states over, there was another rash of violent murders that coincided with strange comas in October. That time there were seven deaths and five coma patients. Twenty-five years before that, there was two murders and five people comatose in yet another state. And twenty-five years before that, four deaths, five comas. I haven’t checked further back yet but I think we can assume what we’d find.”

“So the number of murders change, but it’s always five coma victims.”

“Yep.”

“Sounds like that’s our connection then. So what happens to the coma patients? Are they still in comas?” Dean asked.

“No. They all died. At the same exact moment. On October thirty-first.”

“So, they check out on Halloween. Because that’s not creepy. Sounds like some kind of ritual or something. Probably where we should start our research.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.” Sam agreed.

“Great. You get on it. I’m going to rest here and try to forget about the last hour.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Well, there _was_ a creepy ass jack o’lantern at the hospital. So I picked it up and brought it with me. But then I got to thinking, so I swung by the first coma patient’s house on the way back and sure enough, he had one too. I was just putting it in my bag when I was jumped. Guy was single but apparently lived with freakin’ Cujo.”

“He had an attack dog?”

“Yeah, and the bitch decided to try and take out the guy trying to help his owner.”

“You didn’t kill it, did you?”

Dean put on his best wounded look. “Your brother tells you he was almost mauled to death by a vicious beast and your first concern is for the mutt? Nice Sammy. I’ll remember this.”

“Well, you’re obviously not torn to shreds.”

“Only because I smacked it away from me and hid in the bathroom. Had to climb out the window and make a run for it.” By this point Sam was chuckling. “Hey, it’s not funny.”

“Actually, it is.”

“Just for that, I’m going to sneak one of these jack o’lanterns into your bed with you tonight.”

Sam sobered up immediately. “You have all three jack o’lanterns in that bag? Isn’t that risky? If they do summon whatever is doing this, then you’ve got a neon sign on you now.”

“In all the cases, the victim was alone at home. I don’t think we’re at risk.”

“Just keep them in that bag, okay?”

“No, I was thinking of taking them into the shower with me, then brushing their teeth, and finally snuggling up with them in bed. Dude, of course they’re staying in the bag. I’m not an idiot.”

“Well…”

“Shut it, Sam.” Dean closed his eyes. He heard Sam close the laptop and then lie down on the other bed. They would need rest if they wanted to piece together the clues they’d spent all day gathering. With any luck they’d be able to finish up this job before Halloween, which was still a few days away.

The next morning, Dean woke to the sound of his phone ringing.

“Hello.” He mumbled into it.

“Agent Hetfield?”

“Carol? Is everything alright?” Dean sat up, completely awake. The nursing assistant sounded upset.

“No. My cousin was just brought to the hospital. He’s in a coma. I’m scared. What if this is a contagion?”

“It’s not.” Dean assured her. “Can you give me his address? I want to go over to his place to check something out.”

“Is it the pumpkins you asked me about yesterday? Are they a source of this contagion?”

“It’s not a contagion. Look, I need you to keep a secret, okay? We believe it’s somehow connected to the serial killer in your town and that pumpkins are his calling card. I need to check your cousin’s house to be sure.”

“Oh. Okay, yeah that makes sense. And I won’t tell anyone. I don’t want to cause any panic. That’s why you’re keeping this quiet, right?”

“Exactly.”

“Okay. His name is Jeremy Gorham. He lives at 295 Riverview road, apartment B.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you think I’m safe? I mean I knew two of the victims…”

“You’ll be fine. You have no connection to the other coma patients or any of the murder victims. This is probably just a coincidence due to the fact that this is a small town. With seven victims total, most of the town is probably connected to at least one of them.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Do me a favor though. If you see any jack o’lanterns, get out of wherever you are and go somewhere where there’s more people. Then call me.”

“Thank you, Agent Hetfield.” 

Dean hung up the phone. “We got coma guy number four.” He announced.

Sam looked up from the computer screen he’d been staring at. “And murder victims four and five, according to this.”

“Two kills and a comatization in one night? Someone was busy.”

“Dean, I don’t think ‘comatization’ is an actual word.”

“It is now. And the point is that this thing is picking up speed.”

“With Halloween just a few days away, it probably has to. This creature seems to have a schedule to keep.”

“Okay well, that gives us a schedule too. So, we should give Bobby a call. See if he knows anything.”

Sam nodded. “I actually called him a little while ago, while you were asleep. He’s looking into it. I’ll call back and see if he’s found anything. I heard you say something about going somewhere?”

“Yeah, while you and Bobby do the geek stuff, I’m going to go pick up another jack o’lantern. I’ll grab breakfast for us on my way back”

“Sure. Be…”

“Careful.” Dean parroted at the same time. “Yeah, I know. See you soon.”

Grabbing the duffle bag, he walked out the door with a quick wave over his shoulder.

It was a twenty minute drive to the apartment. Twenty-five since Dean stopped for coffee on the way there. Climbing out of the Impala, Dean made sure he had his gun close at hand. He would be ready if Cloak Freak showed up again. The hunter picked the lock on the front door and said a silent prayer that dogs weren’t allowed in the apartment. Dean slipped through the now open door and walked into the kitchen. There, on the table, was another creepy looking carved pumpkin. Dean dropped his bag next to it and opened the zipper. Just then, he heard something clatter behind him. Spinning around, Dean pulled out his gun and raised it, finger on the trigger. He stopped himself right before he put a bullet in an orange tabby cat. It had knocked a coffee mug onto the floor.

“Dude, be glad I didn’t just shoot your furry ass.”

The cat didn’t seem particularly threatened as it rubbed around Dean’s ankles and meowed. Shaking his head, the hunter turned back to the table. And found four sets of evil looking jack o’lantern eyes staring at him. The three he’d brought with him were no longer in the bag but on the table next to the newest one. 

“Oh crap.” Dean groaned. He carefully stepped forwards to place the pumpkins back into his bag. He reached out with his bandaged left hand while his right kept his gun aimed at the jack o’lanterns. His hand had just touched one of them when they all spontaneously lit with bright flames. Dean jumped back and pulled the trigger. He assumed the bullet would penetrate just as the knife had but instead, the projectile ricocheted off of the orange gourd and ended up grazing Dean’s side before embedding itself in the wall.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean cried and grabbed at the bullet wound. He took his eyes off the jack o’lanterns to check the injury. It was barely a scratch, bleeding but not heavily. 

When the hunter looked back up, there was only one jack o’lantern on the table. Turning, he saw that one of the creepy pumpkins was now on the counter to his left, another on the window sill to his right, and the fourth was on the ground by the door behind him. He was surrounded.

“You know, I’d be more threatened if you weren’t just useless, carved up vegetables.”

The fire inside of them seemed to glow brighter.

“Okay, sorry if I offended you.”

“They’re not offended. Just responding to my orders.” A gravelly voice informed him.

Dean turned and came face to unseen face with the black cloaked figure he’d encountered before. He pointed his gun at the thing but this time the creature was ready. It grabbed the weapon in its thin, leathery hand and pointed it up in the air. Dean struggled to get it back in position, even though he wasn’t looking forward to getting burned again if it burst into flames. But he certainly wasn’t going to let it comatize his ass. Dean thought for a moment that he was getting the upper hand in their struggle over the gun when the weapon began to heat up. The hunter released his hold and stepped back.

“What is it with you and the whole burning thing? It’s getting old.”

“You’re a hunter.” The thing stated.

“And you’re the hunted.” Dean replied.

“You’ll be perfect. Just what I need.”

“Uh, thanks but no thanks. I may be perfect but you are so not my type.”

The creature didn’t respond but instead stepped forward and reached out to touch Dean’s forehead once more.

“Oh hell no!” Dean exclaimed as he stepped backwards. And fell over one of the jack o’lanterns that had not been that close the last time he’d looked. The hunter tried to scramble back to his feet quickly but the thing was standing over him, its rotting stench almost enough to make Dean gag. Not about to let the thing get him, the young man kicked out catching it in its middle. It stumbled back and Dean rolled to his feet. 

The hunter pulled out a knife and held it at the ready as the creature stalked towards him. 

“You want a fight, douche bag? You got one. Let’s do this.”

With those words, Dean lunged at the creature.


	7. Metentis Animarum

Chapter Seven: Metentis Animarum

“Bobby? It’s Sam. Have you found anything yet?” Sam asked as soon as he knew that the older hunter had picked up the phone.

“If I found somethin’ I woulda called ya.”

“I know, I was just hoping…”

“Actually I think I just got somethin’ right now.”

“Really?”

“No, I’m sayin’ it just to amuse myself. Yeah, I got somethin’.”

Sam was pretty sure he heard Bobby mutter ‘idjit’ under his breath. “What is it?”

“You said five coma patients every twenty-five years, right?”

“Yeah.” 

“And they’re all pretty good folks?”

“Yeah.”

“And they all got jack o’lanterns?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I told you?” Sam was getting anxious to figure out what was going on so that they could put a stop to it before something else happened to his brother. He had a sick feeling that Dean had become a target.

“Ya want my help, ya answer the question. If any details are wrong I might be pointin’ ya in the wrong direction.”

“Sorry, Bobby. You’re right. Yes, there are jack o’lanterns.”

“Okay. I think yer dealin’ with Metentis Animarum. That’s Latin for The Harvester of Souls.”

“What is it?”

“Well, there’s no physical description except that it’s tall and cloaked in black. But this thing needs to consume five souls every twenty-five years to keep its strength. And not just any five souls. Five good souls. And the better the soul, the more power it gets. The souls of the corrupt give it no power. When confronts its intended victim, it places a hand on their head and reads their soul. If it finds that the person’s a jackass, it gets enraged that it can’t use the soul and slaughters the person.”

“That explains the murder victims. But what about the ones with good souls. Why put them in comas?”

“The Harvester of Souls can only consume souls on Halloween. It takes the souls from their bodies and keeps them somewhere until October thirty-first. It uses its powers to keep the bodies from dying.”

“Why?”

“What happens when someone dies?” Bobby questioned.

“A reaper comes for their souls.” Sam exclaimed. “And if that happens then the Harvester can’t consume it, right?”

“Correct. But after he has his little soul snack, he no longer needs to keep ‘em alive.”

“So that’s why they all die on Halloween.” Sam thought about what Bobby had told him. “Bobby, I think it may have its sights set on Dean.”

“Boy, you keep yer brother away from that thing. It wants only the best souls. Yer brother’s the type to give his own life to save others. The Harvester’s gonna want ‘im.”

“He’s not here right now. Dean went to collect another jack o’lantern.”

“Damn it all! The Harvester uses them to spy on its victims. It infuses the pumpkins with part of itself and watches for when its target is by themselves. And yer brother’s gonna be alone with one!” 

“Actually, he’s going to be alone with four of them.” Sam corrected.

“Damn idgit!” Bobby growled.

“I’m going to go after him.” Sam declared. “Does your information say how to kill this thing?”

“Decapitation.”

“That’ll work.”

“But ya gotta destroy the head afterwards or it’ll grow a new body.”

“That’s disturbing. Thanks Bobby.”

“Yer welcome. And watch yer own ass too.”

“Will do.” Sam hung up the phone. He had to get to Dean before the creature could take his soul. And what was it with everyone trying to get their hands on his big brother’s soul anyway? Sam was still trying to figure out how to keep Dean from Hell, but this case was much easier. He just had to get to the older Winchester before the Harvester attacked him. 

It was then that he realized that he had no clue as to where Dean could be. And his older brother had taken the Impala. Dean didn’t know the town well, so he probably stopped somewhere for a map or to get directions. And that place would probably be somewhere that he could get a cup of coffee.

Sam left the motel and went down the street to where he’d passed a used car lot on his walk the previous day. After making sure that no one was around, Sam broke into and hotwired a blue 2002 Honda. It wouldn’t stick out like the kind of cars Dean liked and hopefully wouldn’t be missed. Then he drove around until he reached the first gas station with a Quickie Mart. 

Sam walked in and up to the counter. A pretty blonde was sitting on a stool, painting her nails. Good. If she was here when Dean came in, she’d certainly remember him.

“Excuse me, Miss. I was wondering if you remember a man who came in here not too long ago. He’s slightly shorter than me, short hair, leather jacket…”

“You mean that cute FBI guy?” 

“Yeah.” Sam nodded.

“Sure he was here. Needed directions for his investigation.”

“Can you tell me where he was going?” Sam asked as he showed her his badge.

“He was headed to Riverview road. I’ll give you the same directions I gave him. It’s fairly simple.”

Sam listened to her instructions, thanked her, and left the store. He still had a while to drive and he needed to get to his brother as soon as possible. He just prayed that he wouldn’t be too late.

…  
…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…  
…

“You want a fight, douche bag? You got one. Let’s do this.”

With those words, Dean lunged at the creature. He plowed into the cloaked figure and they both tumbled to the ground. The hood slipped back off of the thing’s head and the hunter got his first good look at his opponent.

The shape of the thing’s face was human but the rest of it seemed to be more similar to the hideous jack o’lanterns that it had left for its victims. The skin was burnt-orange in color and leather-like. The eyes were dark slits and two small holes made its nose. Its mouth stretched from one deformed ear to the other and was filled with sharp yellow teeth. It had straggly dark green hair that was long but sparse. 

Dean held the knife over the hideous creature. “Whoa, you are one of the fugliest bastards I’ve ever seen. And that’s saying something considering the things I’ve seen.”

The jack o’lantern-like thing sneered at him. “To me, you humans are the most disgusting creatures that walk the earth.”

“Yeah, I get it. Eye of the beholder and all that crap. But you’re still nasty looking. And you smell bad.”

Then the hunter brought his knife down and stabbed the thing right in between the eyes. The action made a terrible squishing sound and produced an even worse stench than before. The creature backhanded Dean, knocking the man off of him and onto the floor. The hunter’s head struck the kitchen tile hard and he momentarily saw stars. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision and then the creature was hovering over him reaching its long fingers towards his forehead. Dean grabbed its wrist in both hands and snapped it backwards. It made a sickening crack and the thing let out a howl. It grabbed Dean’s bandaged left hand with its good right hand and squeezed. Now it was the hunter’s turn to cry out in pain. The creature released his hand and pressed his fingers to Dean’s temple before the man could stop it. Once more he experienced a burning to his forehead. But this time he had no gun with which to protect himself.

“Yes! Oh, yes! Your soul is perfect! Just what I need.” The thing crooned. But then it pulled its hand away from Dean. “No! I cannot claim your soul! You’ve sold it! You’re useless to me!”

Dean barely registered the words. He felt terribly weak, his head was spinning, and his vision had almost completely blacked out. Dean felt a sudden impact on his ribs that flipped him over and rolled him halfway across the kitchen. Dimly, he realized that the thing must’ve kicked him. The hunter tried to force himself to get up, but he was finding it extremely difficult.

“You were to be my last! A powerful soul for me to take. But now… now you’ll be just another corpse.”

Dean was trying to put together what the creature was saying through the fog that hovered in his mind.

“Souls? You’re taking people’s souls? Why?”

“Why do you get cheese burgers and french fries?”

“’Cause they taste awesome.”

“Sustenance, you fool!”

“So, you eat souls? Dude, just go to a diner and order the house special instead.” Dean was hoping to keep the thing talking long enough to recover from whatever its touch had done to him. 

“You understand nothing.”

“And now you sound like my brother.”

But the creature was obviously through talking. It stalked towards him, the hunting knife still protruding from between its eyes, and Dean watched as its sharp, pointed nails grew to about four inches in length. It suddenly sprang at Dean, but he saw it coming and rolled out of the way. Using the kitchen counter, the hunter pulled himself to his feet. He felt some of his strength returning to him. Dean reached over to the knife block on the counter and pulled out the largest one. Holding his new weapon up, the young man turned and braced himself for the fight to come. The creature stepped forwards, slashing its claws at Dean’s middle. The hunter hopped up to sit on the counter, avoiding the attack, and then kicked the thing in its chest. It fell back into the kitchen table and Dean launched himself off the counter to land in front of it. The hunter stabbed the creature several times in its head and body. Thick dark orange goo began to run from the largest wounds. It screeched with every new injury that Dean inflicted on it, but none seemed to be fatal to the thing. Then, as he brought the knife down yet again, the creature reached up and grabbed his wrist. Dean pushed downwards but the thing pushed back with even more force. Then it brought its other hand up and shoved Dean hard. He was thrown back a couple steps and the creature advanced towards him.

“My turn.” It announced and slashed at Dean’s face. 

The hunter brought his left arm up to protect his face and felt the white hot pain as the sharp nails ripped open his flesh. Dean cried out and tried to fight back, but the creature avoided his knife. Then he felt the thing’s nails slice open the skin on his right side just over his ribs. Dean pressed his bandaged left hand against the new injury, trying to ignore the blood running down that arm. He closed his eyes, fighting against the agony, and when he opened them again the creature’s clawed hand was only inches from his face.


	8. Out of the Fire…

Chapter Eight: Out of the Fire…

Dean had no time to get out of the way as the creature’s sharp nails came at his face. He turned away instinctively and the two longest claws cut into the skin just above his right ear. The hunter screamed and dropped to his knees, bringing his right hand up to grab his head. The move saved his life as the creature took a swipe at where his throat had been just seconds before. Blood poured through his fingers and down his arm and face. Dean’s other cuts were also bleeding heavily as he tried to hold himself together. He was certain that the thing’s next attack would end him.

“Dean! Hit the floor! Protect yourself!” That was Sam’s voice, yelling at him with an urgency just bordering on panic.

Without any hesitation, Dean followed Sam’s orders. He threw himself down onto the kitchen tiles, bandaged left hand still clutching his right side and right hand holding the side of his head. He curled in on himself, a groan of pain escaping his lips. Then a loud gunshot rang out. Dean braced himself for the burst of flames he knew was coming. Seconds later, an incredible heat rushed over him. The hunter hoped that his clothes and hair wouldn’t catch fire. His whole upper body was in severe agony and he squeezed his eyes shut tight.

“Dean! Dean, are you okay? Dumb question. Uh, can you hear me?”

“Dude, everyone can hear your big mouth.” Dean mumbled.

“You weren’t responding, man. You scared me.” 

“I responded.”

“Yeah, just now. I’ve been called your name, like a million times.”

“No way.”

“Yeah. You must’ve blacked out. I was afraid to move you.”

Dean tried to straighten himself out and roll over to face his brother, but the pain in his side was too great. 

“Well, stop being afraid and give me a hand.” Dean growled out between clenched teeth.

He felt his brother’s hands on him, gently easing him into a more relaxed position.

“Oh god, Dean. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“That might be from the multiple deep gashes, but that’s just my best guess.” Dean informed him sarcastically. 

“I’m just glad that you’re not comatose. I thought for sure he’d take your soul.”

“Freaky dude said he couldn’t ‘cause I’d already sold it.”

“Oh, I hadn’t even thought of that.” Sam looked like he was in deep thought but then, when he glanced down at Dean, he seemed to remember that his brother was bleeding out all over the floor. “Okay, well… I’m going to see if I can find any first aid supplies here. Don’t move.”

“Yeah, because I was planning on going for a jog.”

“Funny.”

“I know I am.”

Dean watched Sam leave the kitchen. He was hoping that the creature wouldn’t be back any time soon. He himself was in no condition to fight and would be killed instantly, leaving his younger brother at the mercy of the soul eating monster. And while Dean’s soul was already spoken for, Sam’s was still available. But no. Dean wasn’t going to let that happen. He’d find some way to kill that thing before it laid one of its long clawed fingers on his baby brother.

“Dean, I found some bandages that should work for now. I can stitch you up when we get back to the motel.”

Dean saw Sam walk back into the room. His brother approached him and knelt down on the bloody kitchen floor. Sam’s big hand wrapped around Dean’s left wrist and lifted the bandaged hand away from the deep cuts over his ribs. Then his shirt was pulled up and ripped away from the wound. 

“Oh man, Dean.” 

Dean forced himself not to cry out as something was pressed against the cuts and held firmly in place. Sam secured the gauze pad with medical tape and pulled the torn shirt back down. Then he struggled to pull off Dean’s jacket. This time Dean couldn’t stop himself from making small noises of distress.

“Easy Dean. I’m almost done.”

Luckily, Dean’s shirt sleeves were rolled up enough that the cuts on his left arm were exposed. Sam wrapped those up and then turned his attention to Dean’s head. 

“Okay, I’m just going to wrap the gauze around your head to hold this in place.” He told Dean as he placed a sterile pad gently but firmly against the bleeding gashes. Dean flinched away and Sam held onto him tighter. The younger Winchester began to wrap the gauze and it put yet more pressure on the wound. That was all that Dean could take and he lost his fight with unconsciousness. 

…  
…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…supernatural…  
…

 

Sam was both relieved and concerned when Dean passed out. It would save his brother from more pain but he never liked seeing Dean this motionless and quiet. Those were two words that would never be used to describe his big brother. Sam looked down at the already blood soaked bandages. He wondered if this was what Dean would look like when the hellhounds came for him after his time was up. No. He wasn’t going to let that happen. He’d get Dean out of that deal one way or another.

Once the older hunter was bandaged up, Sam ran outside and opened the back door to the Impala. He spread a blanket on the backseat and then went back inside the house. Sliding one hand under Dean’s neck and the other under his knees, Sam lifted his brother up as though he were a small child. It wasn’t easy but it was the safest way to transport him without causing further injury.

After gently laying him onto the seat, Sam got into the driver’s seat and started up the car. As he drove back to the motel, he called up Bobby.

“Bobby?”

“Sam. How’s yer brother?”

“Not good. It ripped him up pretty bad. I’m taking him back to the motel to finish patching him up. Had I gotten there any later, it would’ve killed him.”

“Killed him? That makes no sense. The Harvester would’ve wanted his soul.”

“Dean says it told him that it couldn’t use his soul because he’d sold it.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line. “Actually, that makes sense.”

“How? It would eat the soul long before Dean’s time was up.”

“Well, this thing keeps its victims alive so that the reapers don’t come for the soul. While the Harvester of Souls is a definite threat to humans, it seems to avoid confrontation with other supernatural creatures. If it doesn’t want to go up against a reaper, it certainly doesn’t want to have to deal with a pissed off demon. And you can be sure the demons would have somethin’ to say about a creature consuming souls that belong to them.”

“Yeah, that does make sense.” Sam agreed. 

“Well, yer brother’s soul may be off the menu, but that might just make you a target.”

“I don’t think it had time to notice me too well before I shot it.”

“It’s probably already seen ya through its jack o’lanterns, ya idjit!”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that.”

“No kidding?”

“Don’t worry, Bobby. I left all of the jack o’lanterns behind at the victim’s house.”

“Good, but keep yer eye out still. The Harvester needs another soul and he’s only got a couple more days.”

“I understand.”

“Call if ya need anything.”

“I will.” Sam hung up the phone.

When he pulled up in front of their motel room, Sam got out and opened the door. Then he carefully extracted his older brother from the backseat and carried him in. After laying him on the bed, Sam examined the injured man. He was concerned that Dean had not yet woken up. But besides the deep cuts on his arm, side, and head, the hunter was also obviously weakened from blood loss. It had been a while since either brother had had to donate blood to the other, but today looked like it would be one of those occasions. But first he’d have to sew up the deepest wounds so that Dean wouldn’t lose the blood that Sam was going to give him.

The younger Winchester started with the four long gashes on his brother’s side. All of them would need to be stitched up. He had almost finished the first one when Dean began to stir. 

“Don’t move, Dean. You’ll do more damage.”

Dean replied with a groan and settled for a moment. Sam returned to his work and Dean began to thrash around as the needle pierced his skin. He took a weak swing at Sam which missed by a mile. The taller man realized that Dean was unaware of his surroundings. A quick check of his temperature showed a fever. One or more of the wounds must’ve gotten infected. That was always an issue when dealing with creatures like that. Sam forced some anti-biotics and heavy duty painkillers down Dean’s throat. The pain relief medications also worked as a sedative so, within moments, Dean was out again. 

Sam finished sewing up the wounds making sure to thoroughly clean them. Next he turned his attention to Dean’s arm. Once the bandages were off, it was clear that that was where the infection was. The cuts were surrounded by puffy red skin and angry red lines ran from there and up his arm. Sam took extra long disinfecting them, glad Dean wasn’t awake to feel any of it. Only two of the claws had broken the skin, but both were deep enough to need stitches. Finally, Sam took the gauze off of his brother’s head to examine those cuts. One of the two was barely a scratch, but the other was very deep. Sam repeated his cleaning and sewing process. He was glad that Dean kept his hair so short as it made the work easier. 

Once he was finished, Sam rummaged through the first aid kit to find the tubing and needles they had stolen from a hospital in case they ever needed to transfer blood from one of them to the other. It wasn’t something they’d done often, but Sam got them hooked up like he was a professional. Then he sat down next to his brother and opened the valves to let his blood flow into the tube and into Dean. He controlled the speed of the transfer so as not to drain himself too much or send Dean’s system into shock. After a while, Sam began to feel light headed and knew that it was time to stop. He closed off the valves and removed the needle from his brother’s arm and covered the puncture mark. Then he did the same to himself.

Completely exhausted, Sam decided to lie down for a bit. He’d clean up the bloody mess after a quick nap. He stood to walk over to the other bed but, as he turned around, something caught his eye and made him freeze. There, on the small table, sat a gruesome looking jack o’lantern. And, as Sam watched, a flame suddenly sprang to life inside of it.


	9. And Then There Was One

Chapter Nine: And Then There Was One

Dean fought to remain asleep as the pain began to invade his blissful state of unconsciousness. He could tell that he was in a bed and thus was safe, so why the hell would he want to wake up and be at the full mercy of his injuries. But apparently he wasn’t going to get a choice. His body was urgently informing him that his bladder was full and his stomach empty. With a groan, Dean opened his eyes and saw nothing. The room was pitch black. Which, of course, meant that it was night. He’d somehow slept the entire day away. The slightly hazy feeling in his brain let him know that the reason he’d been asleep so long was because Sam must’ve drugged him. He’d need to thank his brother for giving him the good stuff. In any event, he still needed to get up and pee. 

With a complete lack of grace, Dean stumbled to his feet and shuffled to the back of the room where the bathroom was located. He felt a little weak but not as bad as he had suspected that he would. After fumbling around to locate the doorknob, the hunter opened the door and flipped on the lights. Squinting, Dean entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him as quietly as he could. Sam was probably tired after spending the day patching him up and most likely doing more research, so Dean didn’t want to wake him up. 

After relieving himself, Dean washed his hands in the sink and took a good look at himself in the vanity mirror. He was remarkably pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. He turned his head and saw a line of small, neat stitches just above his right ear. He’d already noticed his wrapped up arm and the bandages taped onto his side, since Sam had taken off his torn up t-shirt but had not given him a new one. Dean made a mental note to tease his brother about trying to freeze him to death by leaving him half naked. 

At that moment his stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t had anything to eat since that bag of slightly stale peanut M&Ms at the hospital a day and a half ago. The creature had attacked him and screwed up his plans of getting a breakfast burrito on his way back to the motel. Yet another reason that thing had to die. Dean hoped that Sam had gone to the diner and picked something up for him for when he woke up. He’d check the refrigerator and see what he could find.

When Dean opened the door, all thoughts of food disappeared. The light that spilled from the bathroom illuminated his brother’s bed. It was empty and still made up. Sam had never slept in it. But there was no way that his younger brother would’ve left him all alone in his current condition without a damned good reason. Dean swung the door completely open to try and look around the entire room. The glow from the open bathroom made it possible for him to see the outline of a body lying on the floor near the table. It was Sam.

Dean rushed across the room and turned on the light so that he could get a good look at his brother. The first thing he noticed was the blood. But a closer look revealed that the blood was in a trail from the front door to the bed that Dean had woken up on. It was his and not Sam’s blood. Dean dropped to his knees in front of his brother and used his good right hand to gently roll the younger man over. There were no cuts or bleeding wounds on his body. For a moment, the hunter could almost fool himself into believing that Sam had merely fallen asleep on the floor but then he saw the taller man’s forehead. There were fingertip shaped burn marks on his brother’s temple. 

“No. Sammy, Sammy c’mon. Wake up.” He patted Sam’s cheek, knowing all the while that his younger brother was not going to respond. But still he felt anger and fear surge within himself when there was no reaction. “Son of a bitch! I’m gonna find you, you soul stealing piece of crap, and I’m gonna carve you up for this!”

Dean got to his feet, ready to go out and kill the freaky bastard, but then he realized that he had no place to start. He didn’t even know what the creature was, much less where to find it. He’d have to call Bobby. But first thing first. Dean had to try and make his little brother more comfortable. 

Dean tried to pick up his taller brother but his left arm screamed in protest. Even if he somehow managed to lift up the heavier man, he would certainly pull all the stitches that he was sure Sam had put in his arm. Abandoning that idea, the hunter walked to the bed to retrieve a pillow and some blankets. When he got there, something on the nightstand caught his attention. It was the tubing and needles that they used to perform blood transfusions. That was why he felt a bit stronger now. But it would’ve weakened Sam and made it impossible for him to fight back when the creature attacked. Which meant that his brother had been hurt because of Dean. If he hadn’t gotten his ass kicked, then Sam wouldn’t have had to give him blood and make himself vulnerable. Hell, if Dean hadn’t been so pathetically weak then he would’ve been able to take out tall, dark and ugly and this nightmare would be over. But now Sam’s life, his very soul, was at risk because Dean couldn’t get his act together. Dean had sold his soul for Sam and now it seemed that it had all been for nothing. Hell no. Dean might have a one way ticket to a gruesome death followed by an all expenses paid trip to eternal torment, but Sammy was going to get a long life no matter what. If Dean could stop the creature before Sam’s body died on Halloween, maybe there was a way to get his soul back as well. Bobby would know more about that than he did.

Dean pulled the pillow and blanket off and carried them over to his brother. He lifted the unconscious man’s head up and slid the pillow under it. Then he draped the blanket over Sam. That was all he could do for now. 

Then he saw the jack o’lantern sitting on the table, grinning at him with that ugly evil mouth. Dean picked it up and threw it across the room. It hit the wall and rolled back until it came to rest by Dean’s feet. Angrily, the hunter kicked the pumpkin under the bed. 

Trying to calm himself, Dean turned his attention back to the matter at hand. He went over to the nightstand to grab the pill bottles he’d seen there. He needed some painkillers. He’d just make sure to take the ones without sedatives. One of bottles contained anti-biotics. Dean wondered if Sam had given them to him as a precaution or if one of his multiple cuts had become infected. Creature inflicted wounds would sometimes become infected almost immediately but usually a mix of peroxide and holy water combined with a course of anti-biotics would do the trick. Dean swallowed one of those and two oxycodone for the pain. Then he grabbed his cell phone and called Bobby.

“Hello.” The older man sounded half asleep. Well, Dean _had_ called in the middle of the night.

“Bobby?”

“Dean? That you, boy?”

“Yeah.”

“Glad to hear ya up and about. Sam said ya were in a sad state.”

“It got him Bobby. The creature got Sam.”

“What? How, what happened.”

“I don’t know. I just woke up and he was on the floor. Just like the coma patients.”

“He’s comatose?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, that’s good.”

“Good?” Dean practically shouted. “How can this be good Bobby?”

“Easy boy. All I meant was that it coulda been worse. We can’t help him if he were dead. But if he’s in a coma, we still got a chance. Did Sam tell ya ‘bout this thing?”

“No.”

“It’s called the Harvester of Souls. It takes good souls and holds onto them until Halloween, when it consumes them for the energy to live for another twenty-five years.”

“So, Sam’s soul is still okay? It’s just not in his body right now?”

“That’s what I’m sayin’. If you can get to the Harvester, you can still save yer brother.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” Dean could barely contain his relief. “I’m so ready to gank this bitch.”

“Well, ya gotta find it first.”

“And figure out how to kill it.” Dean added.

“Decapitation. And then ya gotta destroy the head or it won’t die and it’ll eventually grow a new body.”

“That’s just nasty.”

“I might have some suggestions on how to find it.”

“Spill it.”

“It needs a large space to conduct the soul consumption ritual. It won’t leave the town as it’d need to stay close to the coma patients to ensure that they don’t die. And before ya ask, the Harvester keeps ‘em alive ‘cause it wants to avoid confronting a reaper who’d show up to collect the soul if the person died. I’m compiling a list of what it needs for the ritual but so far there’s nothing too specific. Symbols, fire, blood, the usual.”

“So, a large space somewhere in town. Thanks Bobby, that really narrows it down.” Dean replied sarcastically.

‘Watch yer mouth, boy. I’m doing what I can.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“I get it. You’re worried ‘bout yer brother. But ya gotta think this through and not just run in and yer fool self killed.” Bobby warned.

“You’re right. I’ll start looking around town. Maybe question some people on if they know of any unoccupied spaces.”

“Not at three in the mornin’ yer not. Get some rest and some food. Ya got two whole days before the ritual takes place.”

“Bobby…”

“I’m serious, Dean. Sam told me ‘bout yer injuries. If ya don’t rest up ya ain’t gonna be a bit of good to yer brother.”

“Okay. Let me know if you find anything else.” Without waiting for a response, Dean ended the call.

The hunter pulled on a black tee, a dark blue flannel shirt, and his boots. Then he grabbed his car keys and left the motel. Dean had rested enough. Now he was going to stop at the twenty-four hour diner he’d seen the day before and get some food with a side order of information from the waitress. Hopefully he’d have a solid lead by daybreak. Dean was going to save Sam. There was just no other option.


	10. The Search

Chapter Ten: The Search

When the waitress came back over to Dean’s booth to serve him his half pound cheese burger with extra onions, he gave her the most dazzling smile he could muster. The twenty-something year old girl returned the expression with much more enthusiasm than anyone should have at four o’clock in the morning. She placed the completely filled plate in front of him, careful not to bump it into his coffee mug, and a few french fries tumbled onto the table. The smell of the food was like heaven to the hungry hunter. 

“There you go, sir.” She announced. “I hope you enjoy.”

“I’d enjoy it a lot more with some company, Liz.” He responded, reading her name off her nametag. 

Liz looked around the deserted diner. Dean was currently the only customer. 

“I’ve got a few minutes.” She sat down across from him. 

Dean took a bite out of his cheese burger and then pushed the plate closer to Liz and gestured towards the fries. Smiling, she picked one up and popped it into her mouth, making a face when the too hot potato must’ve burned her tongue. 

During the meal, Dean kept up polite conversation, letting her do most of the talking. He learned that she was a college student and studying to become a veterinarian. Her parents had lived here their whole lives and wanted her to take over their family restaurant, but she refused since she hated cooking. She’d taken the overnight waitressing shift just to pay her way through college. 

When Dean was almost done with his meal, he casually commented that not many people seemed to want to come out and eat at this hour.

“Yeah, I know. Greg, that’s the owner, has talked about closing over night, but sometimes students come in for a snack if they’re pulling an all-nighter. We’ve been able to convince him to keep it open twenty-four hours so far. So, why are you out this late? Or should I say early?”

And that was the opening that Dean was waiting for. “Well, I’m here in town on business.” He pulled out his fake badge to show her. Liz’s eyes widened when she saw it. “I’m trying hard to solve this case and it’s making me lose sleep. Figured a good meal might help.”

“You’re here about those murders, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Dean leaned in and continued in just above a whispered. “I don’t want news getting out yet, but I figured out who’s responsible. It’s an out of town serial killer that’s set up shop somewhere in the area. I just gotta figure out where.”

“Maybe I can help.” Liz offered. “I know this whole town like the back of my hand.”

Dean put on his best thoughtful expression. “You know, I hadn’t even considered that.” He lied. 

“Just tell me what you’re looking for.”

“Are there any large empty spaces nearby? Like abandoned houses, factories, or warehouses? This guy likes his space. He’s into all that fake satanic crap and likes to draw symbols and pretend to do rituals.”

“Well, there’s one old house that’s, like, huge. It’s on Baker’s Street, not far from here. Here, I’ll draw you a map.” Dean watched her sketch out some lines on a sheet of paper from her order pad. After she handed it to him, she continued talking. “There are also a few empty stores on this street. Oh, and an old factory on the outskirts of town. It’s been closed since I was just a kid. I’ll write down some directions.” Dean waited patiently as she finished up and handed him another piece of paper. “That’s pretty much it. I hope it’s helpful.”

“Liz, you’re amazing.” Dean took one last bite of his burger and then stood. He pulled out his wallet and dropped a twenty on the table. A much bigger tip than usual for him, but if the information she gave him helped save Sam, it was well worth it. “Maybe I’ll stop back after I take care of this scumbag.”

“I’d like that.” Liz smiled at him again.

Dean gave her one last grin and then left the diner. Now that he had a place to begin his search, he was more determined than ever to gank that freakin’ bastard and save his little brother’s soul.

Dean decided to check into the empty stores first. He doubted that it was where the Harvester was staying, but he was right there already and he’d never forgive himself if Sam died because he’d overlooked the creature’s hideout. And it was best to search through them before the sun came up in a couple of hours. No need to attract unwanted attention.

The first closed down business had been a hair salon. It still smelled of hair spray and other styling chemicals. Dean made a face at the odor and then slipped back out of the empty building. An out-of-business hobby shop was next. It was equally deserted. Finally there was a pizza restaurant that had apparently been shut down for health code violations. The rat droppings and cockroaches left no doubt as to what those violations had been. But still, there was no sign of the Harvester of Souls.

Dean drove to the house that Liz had drawn the map to. It was pretty close to the hospital where the coma patients were, which made it a good candidate. Fifteen minutes later, just after the sun had risen above the horizon, the hunter pulled up in front of a very large old, Victorian-style mansion. Dean decided that if he were an evil creature, this was where he’d want to hang out. 

As he climbed up the stairs to the partially rotted front porch, Dean noticed that the front door was open. He held his machete at the ready. His gun was useless to him unless he wanted the creature to disappear once again, and that was not going to help him at all. Dean was going to have to try and behead the Harvester one handed and was probably only going to have one shot at it. Piece of cake. 

He walked through the open door and crept into the large open entrance. He went left and found a large kitchen. Then Dean proceeded past a dining room and into a living room. A quick check through a closed door revealed a bathroom. Soon the first floor was cleared. The hunter checked the basement next. It too was empty. Finally, Dean walked up the large staircase to the upper floor. There he found a huge master bedroom and four other rooms. None were occupied. Dean was about to go back downstairs when he heard something move above him. He could’ve kicked himself for almost missing the attic. There was a rope hanging from a trap door in the ceiling. Dean was forced to lean his machete against the wall to open it up and pull down the ladder. This whole one-armed thing sucked. 

The hunter slowly climbed the wooden ladder, weapon tucked under his arm. He was nervous that the Harvester would be standing by the trap door waiting for him. But when he reached the top, nothing happened. The light switch didn’t work, so Dean had to keep his machete under his left arm and shine his flashlight around the large open space. He smelled the strong stench of decay, but that could just be from dead animals that had snuck in here and died. Dean walked slowly towards the back of the attic when he heard another sound. He spun in that direction and ran the light around the area. Suddenly, something was moving towards him. Within seconds, Dean was attacked by a swarm of bats. Cursing, he swatted at them and turned off his flashlight. Then he forced himself to stay completely still. After a few moments, the bats settled back down. 

“I don’t suppose you guys have seen a hideous soul eating monster, huh?” He muttered. Dean turned his light back on and kept the beam aimed low as he made his way back to the trap door. This had been a huge waste of time. The Harvester of Soul wasn’t here and never had been.

He was almost back at the ladder when his right leg broke through the old, rotted floor boards. With a cry, Dean fell down to the ground, his leg at a rather painful angle. 

“Damn it!” He screamed as he tried to pull his leg free, only to have the broken wood dig into his flesh. “Son of a bitch!” All the commotion had upset the bats once more and they began flying around like crazy. Dean ignored them and worked to carefully extract his leg. After a few minutes with no progress, Dean heard a cracking noise and he knew what was about to happen. The floor gave out under him and he tumbled down into the hall. He hit the hard wood with a loud thud and for a moment Dean was afraid that he’d fall through this level as well. But the floor held up. The already injured hunter groaned and fought the darkness that threatened to claim him. After a few minutes, he struggled to his feet.

Dean somehow managed to drag himself to the Impala and sit down in the driver’s seat. He tossed the machete into the passenger side and leaned his head back. He felt like crap. His leg was throbbing in pain from where the wooden beams had gouged the flesh and his head was ringing from the fall. And worse yet, he still hadn’t found the Harvester, so he was no closer to saving his brother. Dean let out a pained moan and closed his eyes.

It was dark as he pulled up in front of the motel. He’d found no leads. He stumbled from the Impala and over to the door that led to his room. When he reached it, he found that the door was open just a crack. He pushed it open completely and flicked the light switch. Nothing happened. The room was still pitch black. He pulled out his flashlight and pushed the ‘on’ button. That too failed to illuminate the room. There hadn’t even been a flicker. With no light to see by, he carefully stepped into the room. He held out his injured left hand to feel for anything that would help him navigate the dark room as his right hand clutched the machete. His hand had just bumped into the table when suddenly a flame sprang to life just inches away. It illuminated the evil looking jack o’lantern that it was contained in. Then four more lit up as well. He stepped back in surprise and tripped over something on the floor. He landed on his ass and scooted back to look at the object that he’d fallen over. It was Sam’s body. But it was no longer lying almost peacefully, covered by the warm blanket from the bed. By the firelight from the pumpkins, he saw that his brother’s body was torn up and covered in blood. “No! Sam!” He cried as he crawled to his baby brother. He felt for a pulse, although he was certain he’d find nothing. There was no way that a person in that condition could be alive. Unfortunately, he was right. He felt tears run down his face as he clutched Sam’s lifeless body to his chest, ignoring the pain of his own injuries. His brother was dead and this time he had no soul to sell for him. He’d failed. 

Dean awoke with a start and sat straight up in the driver’s seat of the Impala. It had been a dream. A nightmare. But Dean couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief because he knew that Sam’s life was still hanging in the balance. And it was just beginning to get dark. He’d slept the day away and now only had one more day to find the Harvester of Souls and stop him. Dean brushed away the tears that had leaked from his eyes as he’d slept. He would find that son of a bitch and gank his freakin’ ass. He’d save Sam. Dean swore right then and there that his dream was not going to come true.


	11. The Final Confrontation

Chapter Eleven: The Final Confrontation 

Dean followed the directions that Liz had given to him all the way to the outskirts of the town. Once there, it was impossible to miss the abandoned factory that he’d been told about, even in the dark. He checked the time. It was just past eight o’clock. He still had over twenty-four hours to stop the Harvester and there was a good chance that the fugly bastard was hiding out here. It was the last place that met all of the requirements. Dean got out of the Impala and grabbed his machete. This was going to end now.

The hunter let himself into the old factory. It smelled horrible and offered no light. Dean needed to keep his weapon at the ready, so he held the flashlight in his injured left hand. It hurt to grasp the object, but he needed the light and the machete so he figured he’d just have to suck it up. 

There was a lot of equipment and large machinery that had been left behind when the place had closed down. There were no signs with a company name and Dean didn’t recognize anything in the factory so he had no clue what it was that used to be made here. But that didn’t really matter. 

The large main area was devoid of life, so Dean decided to check the offices. There was one right off of the room that he was in. Dean opened the door and glanced around. An empty desk, a file cabinet, a pot that once held a plant, and a girly calendar. Nothing that indicated an evil creature had ever been there. A glance across the room at the calendar made him wish that his brother were here so that he could make some sort of perverted comment to annoy and disgust the younger man. 

Dean left the office and checked the four different storage rooms only to find that they hadn’t been occupied for a long time. He then walked up the rickety metal stair case to the catwalk above. The metal walkway led to several more offices. The hunter stepped carefully, mindful of what happened the last time he walked across a dilapidated floor. He was still limping slightly because of it. Dean tried not to think about how he was going to manage to fight the Harvester and win with all the injuries he’d acquired during this job. 

Dean checked the offices one at a time. It took forever but he finally managed to clear the entire level. Which only left the basement. He opened the basement door and slowly descended into the completely dark area. The beam from his flashlight swept from side to side as he attempted to look around. He was in a huge open room filled with boxes, crates, and old rusty file cabinets. Dean saw no demonic symbols painted in blood, candles, or any other signs that a ritual was about to take place. He’d struck out yet again and this had been his last lead. 

“Damn it!” Dean kicked one of the file cabinets in anger. It collapsed in on itself with a loud crash. He stomped back up the stairs and slammed out the front door. He was almost back to the Impala when he heard his phone ring.

“What?” He growled into the speaker.

“Well, I take it ya haven’t found the Harvester of Souls yet.”

“Bobby, I’m not in the mood. I just wasted the whole day and don’t know where to go next.”

“Well then, you ain’t gonna like what I got to tell ya. You got just a couple hours left if ya wanna gank the thing in time to save yer brother.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Bobby? Tomorrow’s Halloween. Not today.”

“Yeah, but tomorrow starts in just two hours. All the coma victims in the past always checked out early Halloween mornin’, long before the sun came up. The ritual probably takes place just after midnight.”

Dean felt like he’d just been punched in the gut. He struggled to breathe through the panic that threatened to surface. But after a moment, he won the battle over his emotions, just as he’d done for most of his life. He needed to be clear headed and panicking wouldn’t help.

“I need more information, Bobby. Checking out large empty spaces isn’t working. Have you found out anything else about the ritual?”

“Not really. All the Harvester needs is candles and blood. Lots of blood.”

“Well then, it’ll need to get the blood from somewhere. It doesn’t look like the bastard collected it from its former victims, so maybe it’ll be out trying to find more targets. Does it say if the blood needs to be fresh?”

“That’s the weird part. Most rituals require fresh blood but this specifically calls for chilled blood.”

“Chilled? What, is the Harvester gonna have a cocktail party or something?”

“I’m just tellin’ ya what I read.”

“Chilled… well, that means he’ll have needed to collect it already. But I don’t recall hearing about any other deaths…” Dean tried to piece together the clues. “And he’d need electricity so that he could run a fridge or something… Wait! I got it! Thanks Bobby.” Dean hung up the phone and climbed into the Impala. 

He started the car up and took off at break neck speeds, praying that he wouldn’t get pulled over. He ran every light he could and completely ignored stop signs. At one point Dean swerved around a car that was going a mere fifteen miles above the speed limit and almost collided head on with a minivan. Only his quick reflexes allowed him to jump the curb and drive over a well manicured lawn. But he reached his destination in record time.

Dean got out of the driver’s seat and shut the car door. Then he went to the trunk and pulled out a duffel bag. He emptied it out and then placed his machete inside. Tossing the bag over his shoulder, Dean closed the trunk and headed towards the entrance of the hospital. 

The hospital obviously wasn’t an abandoned space, but the basement would probably provide the Harvester with enough room for his ritual and there would be a large supply of chilled blood kept on hand. And it couldn’t get much closer to the first four coma victims. 

Dean walked into the main entrance and was heading to the elevators when a woman’s voice called out to him.

“Excuse me sir, but visiting hours are over. You can come back tomorrow.”

Dean turned to face an elderly woman that was sitting at the courtesy desk. He didn’t want to risk flashing his badge in case she decided to get security involved. He’d have to think quick.

“I know it’s late ma’am, but my wife is about to give birth and I don’t want to miss it. I had to go back home and get her some of her things to make her more comfortable.” He held up his bag. Dean hoped that the birthing area wasn’t currently empty of patients. He also prayed that she wouldn’t see the dried blood on his torn jeans.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Most people use the side door to enter into the maternity ward since it’s much closer.”

“I got a little turned around.” Dean explained.

“Your first child, I take it? Don’t worry, first timers are always nervous.” She informed him with a smile. “Just go down that hall past the elevators and take a right. You’ll see the signs from there.”

“Thank you.” Dean replied and then followed her instructions. He’d have to find another way down since there was no way she’d overlook him getting into the elevators now. He hadn’t gone far when he saw a stairwell. After making sure there was no one around to notice, Dean slipped through the door. 

There were steps leading both upstairs and down. The ones that Dean took had a sign announcing ‘Basement Access, Authorized Hospital Personnel Only’. At the bottom was another door. Dean opened it as quietly as he could and entered a long bare hallway. The fist door he came to was marked ‘storage room one’. A quick peek inside revealed a room filled with large cardboard boxes. Dean continued on. The next door was for storage room two. This room contained shelves stocked with medial supplies of all types. The third storage room was for linens. When the hunter came to the fourth door, he saw a hand written sign proclaiming ‘Do Not Enter. Leaking Pipes Under Repair. Supplies Have Been Moved To Storage Room Six’. Dean was willing to bet money that this was the right place.

He pressed his ear up against the door and listened. After a moment he heard footsteps. A moment later came a familiar low gravelly voice chanting something in what sounded like a variation of Latin. Dean checked the time. Midnight was approaching but he still had time. This was probably some sort of pre-ritual crap. And there was no way that Dean was going to let the Harvest get to the actual ritual. By the echoing sound of the footsteps, the hunter figured that the room was a decent size and had been emptied of any supplies or shelves that had once occupied the space. Although every nerve in his body was screaming at him to throw the door open and rush in, Dean knew that he would have to play it smart if he wanted to survive the confrontation. His last fight with the Harvester had not turned out well and he was at a further disadvantage this time. 

Dean pulled the machete from his bag and waited until he heard the footsteps right near the door. Then he turned the handle and flung himself through the door and right into the cloaked figure. Both went down in a tangle of limbs, but Dean made sure that he landed on top. Sharp pain radiated out from his previous wounds, but the hunter ignored them. Holding the machete in his left hand, he brought his right fist down to pound the creature’s hideous face over and over. Dean knew he’d need to stun the monster if he wanted a chance to decapitate it. The Harvester’s leathery burnt-orange skin split under its slit of an eye, and smelly orange goo ran from the wound. As he brought his fist down again, the creature opened its huge mouth and took a snap at Dean. He jerked his hand back but two of the teeth managed to scrape against the back of his hand. 

“Ah! Crap! Dude, you better not have rabies, you ugly bastard.” 

The Harvester merely growled at him, obviously displeased that it had failed to bite the hunter’s hand off. Dean switched the machete into his right hand and brought it down into the Harver’s neck. 

It went in deep, but not all the way through. The creature hissed at him, spitting the thick orange goo that was its blood. Dean leaned forward to push his weapon downwards but froze as he felt the creature’s claws poke into his stomach, just barely breaking the skin. If he leaned forward further to complete the job, he’d end up gutted for sure. But if he backed off now, he might not get another chance to finish this once and for all. With no time left, Dean made his decision.


	12. Happy Halloween

Chapter Twelve: Happy Halloween 

Dean pressed down on the machete as he shifted to the left. He felt the creature’s sharp nails dig deep into his skin just under his bandaged ribs. It hurt like all hell to have the claws inside of his body, but he was pretty sure that he’d avoided puncturing anything vital. The Harvester, on the other hand, was now missing its head. 

Dean took a moment to focus on his breathing, trying to fight past the pain. He knew better than to move before pulling the clawed fingers free from his flesh. If he didn’t, he’d tear his entire side open. And he really wanted to live long enough to get back to the motel and give Sam a hard time about all of this. 

Sam. He had to be okay now, right? That thought prompted Dean to get moving. He grasped the Harvester’s limp hand and pulled the dagger-like nails out of his side, trying to guide them straight out to minimize damage. Once freed from the dead creature, Dean rolled off the Harvester and onto his back. After a moment he sat up, keeping his hand pressed to the bleeding wounds. They were nowhere near as bad as they could’ve been, but it still hurt like a bitch. The hunter let out a tiny moan as he struggled to his feet. He looked down at himself and saw shallow cuts that ran from the spot on his stomach where the Harvester had originally dug his claws in, all the way to the five deep puncture wounds on his side. He was a mess, but he’d live.

Dean took a moment to finally look around the room. Like the other hospital storage spaces, it was painted white and adequately lit. But unlike the other rooms, there were symbols painted in blood all over the walls. Dean felt bad for the janitor who’d eventually have to clean the place up. In the center of the room was a table that was covered in lit candles that surrounded a huge jack o’lantern. Strange blue light spilled from its eyes and mouth. Dean was about to go over to investigate when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. 

He spun around and saw the Harvester’s eyes blink and its mouth open and closed as though speaking. But no sound came out. Yet the decapitated thing looked way too smug for a creature that had just had its head hacked off. Dean stepped over to the grotesque thing and stared down at it.

“Dude, I don’t know what you’re smiling about, but you just lost.” The mouth opened wider and if Dean didn’t know better he’d swear the thing was laughing at him. Then the blue glow from the jack o’lantern on the table intensified, lighting up the room. And Dean understood. The ritual had not been stopped. 

The hunter looked between the head and the table. He figured he only had time to make one more move. He could pick up the machete and hack the head to tiny pieces, thus killing the Harvester of Souls. Or he could turn over the table and try to destroy the strange alter. He was sure that one of those actions would stop the ritual but which one? There was a chance that the death of the Harvester might not solve the problem, but the same could be said about destroying the alter. Dean had to make a decision and make it fast.

Then he heard something. Ever since entering the room, there had been some sort of background noise that he’d ignored because he’d bee slightly preoccupied. But now, as he concentrated, he could make out what sounded like distant screams. They were filled with fear. But that wasn’t what caught his attention the most. One of the voices wasn’t screaming in mindless terror. It was calling out a name. His name. And Dean would recognize that voice anywhere.

“Sammy?” He looked around the room. No one else was there. But then he realized where the cries were coming from. Dean turned to stare at the decapitated head of the Harvester. “The pumpkin? You were keeping their souls inside the pumpkin? That’s kinda gay, man.” 

Dean walked over to the table. He heard his brother’s call get louder. He reached out and laid a hand on the gigantic pumpkin. It was warm. 

“I’m here Sammy.” This time when the voice called out his name, Dean swore the voice was tinged with relief. The hunter knew that he had to get the souls out of there quickly. 

He reached over and grasped the stem, prepared to lift the top off. Then he hesitated. While he was certain that this would free the souls, Dean wasn’t sure if they would return to their bodies or just move on into whatever the afterlife had planned for them. But anything was better than being consumed by a monster, right? So, he yanked the top off of the jack o’lantern.

Blue light shot out of the top of the pumpkin and rushed past him and out the door. It was over in seconds and then the door slammed shut. 

Dean blinked his eyes to clear the spots burned into his retinas by the brilliant glow. After a moment, his vision was back to normal and he turned his attention back to his beheaded foe. Now the head was scowling at him, a look of pure hatred written across its gruesome features. 

“Sorry to ruin your dinner plans, but you should’ve just stuck with trick or treating for Halloween.” With that, Dean picked up the machete and hacked the Harvester of Souls’ head to pieces. Then he took two steps towards the door and collapsed onto the ground from the pain and exhaustion. 

Dean awoke to the sound of his cell phone ringing. With a groan, he rolled onto his back and wondered why the bed was so hard and cold. He also was curious as to why he’d fallen asleep with his phone still in his pocket. Dean pulled it out and answered it without even opening his eyes.

“Hello?”

“Dean?”

“Sammy?” And that’s when everything came back to him. Dean sat up with a start, ignoring the fresh burst of pain that shot through his side. “Sam, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. What about you? I’ve been trying to call you for over an hour. Where are you? What happened?”

“I’m heading back now. We’ll talk when I get there.” Dean hung up the phone and let out a sigh of relief. Sam was safe. His brother’s soul had returned to his body and he was going to be okay. A happy ending to a crappy job.

Dean got to his feet and left the storage room. He made a pit stop in storage room two to grab some bandages and quickly wrap up the deep puncture wounds that the Harvester’s nails had caused. Then the injured hunter crept back up the stairs and slipped through the halls, occasionally ducking into rooms to avoid being seen. Luckily not many people were wandering the halls at one in the morning. Dean managed to make it out a side entrance without being spotted. 

When he got into the Impala he was tempted to lay his head back but he remembered that he’d ended up taking a long nap the last time he’d done that and he was anxious to get back to the motel and see that his brother was okay with his own eyes. So he started up the engine and pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. 

Dean parked his car right in front of the door to his and Sam’s room. He climbed out of the driver’s seat, limped over to door, and rapped loudly on it. When it swung open to reveal Sam standing there looking perfectly fine save for the finger shaped burn marks on his forehead, Dean grinned.

“Trick or treat.” He joked.

“I think you ate all our candy already.” Sam replied.

As soon as Dean entered the room, his younger brother threw his arms around him and hugged him tight.

“When you didn’t answer your phone I assumed the worst.” Sam informed him.

“You woke up, coma-boy, so you should’ve figured that I won.” Despite his dismissive words, Dean hugged Sam back. When they stepped apart, the older Winchester could tell that his brother was checking him over for injuries.

“You look like crap, Dean.”

“Well, that’s gratitude for you.” Dean commented. “I save your ass and you insult my good looks.”

“I saved your ass first.” Sam shot back. 

“Well, my rescue of you was way more impressive.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it as I patch you up? Again.”

Dean sat on his bed and removed his shirt. Sam knelt down next to him and placed the first aid kit on the edge of the mattress. As the younger man worked, Dean filled him in on what had happened. It turned out that Sam had no recollection of anything after the Harvester appeared in the motel room and was surprised to hear that his disembodied spirit had called out to Dean.

“That’s just weird, man.”

“Dude, you’re telling me? I’m the one that had to hear you girly cry coming from a freakin’ gourd.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Seriously though, you think it’s all over now?”

“Well, you’re awake, so I’m assuming that the other coma patients are fine too. And ugly face got hacked to pieces so I doubt he’ll be eating anymore souls. I’d say this job’s over.”

“Good. I can’t say this was one of my favorite cases.” Sam put one last piece of medical tape on his older brother’s bandages.

“I second that.” Dean concurred, flopping back onto the bed as Sam started to clean up the first aid supplies. Despite the pain he was in, he was feeling good. Sam was safe and four other families were probably also celebrating a ‘miraculous recovery’ of their loved ones. Not bad.

“As soon as you’re feeling up to it, we’ll hit the road.” 

“Why the rush, Sammy? I was thinking of sleeping through the rest of this damned holiday.”

“Well, you just saved my soul, Dean. Time for me to return the favor.”

“Sam, I told you…”

“Yeah, I know. No way out of your deal. But we gotta try, Dean.”

Dean groaned, not wanting to get into _that_ argument again. 

“Whatever. But I’m still gonna get some sleep. ‘Cause some of us didn’t go all comatose and sleep through all of the action.” 

Sam threw a pillow onto his face and Dean laughed before pushing it off the side of the bed and closing his eyes. 

“Sleep well, Dean.” 

“Night, Sam.”

“Happy Halloween.” Dean could hear the smile in his brother’s voice.

“Bite me.” Dean responded, then allowed himself to drift off to the sound of his brother’s laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween everyone! Hope you all enjoyed. Today I've also posted a cute Weechester oneshot called 'The Winchester Rule of Trick 'R Treating'.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed the teaser... Next chapter brings in the Winchesters!


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